Slouching Towards Bethlehem
by Refur
Summary: Sixth year has begun, but Hogwarts is just not the same any more. With Sirius gone and war on the horizon, even Quidditch seems insignificant to Harry. And then there's the little matter of Malfoy...
1. Turning and Turning in the Widening Gyre

Many thanks to Alyce, my wonderful beta, and to dolphinology for pointing out the Dursley thing ;).

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**Slouching Towards Bethlehem**

**Part One: The Centre Cannot Hold**

Chapter 1: Turning and Turning in the Widening Gyre

It was the rain beating against the window that woke Harry up. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was, staring up in surprise at the grey squares of light on the ceiling, and then he realised: he had just lain down for a moment, the bed had seemed so inviting, and he had still had half an hour before Defence Against the Dark Arts began... Shaking his head in an attempt to clear some of the sleepy fog from it, he sat up sharply, glancing at his watch, and then swallowed hard. He had been asleep for hours; the Defence class was long over. In fact, he had missed Transfiguration as well, and was currently missing Potions, the last class of the day. _How did I manage to sleep so long?_ Harry wondered in some surprise. _And why didn't Ron and Hermione come and find me?_

He considered running down to the Potions classroom, but decided against that pretty quickly, after imagining Snape's face. He remembered last week's lesson and shuddered: they had been making Draughts of the Living Death, a surprisingly complex piece of magic, and Snape had watched him like a hawk for the whole class. He had found himself getting nervous, and tiredness had clouded his thoughts, so that, careful though he thought he was being, he had somehow added aconite instead of asphodel, and his potion had started to smell like the inside of one of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Snape had been on him in seconds, gloating triumphantly. "Well, I wouldn't take it too hard, Potter," he had said with a kind of twisted glee. "You look like you've had too much of this one already." Ron's eyes had narrowed, and Hermione had gripped his arm as if to restrain him, but all Harry had felt was a deadening sense of inevitability that was only heightened by the sound of Malfoy snickering in the front row and repeating Snape's witticism loudly to anyone who would listen for the next few days. No, he wasn't very keen on turning up to Potions.

Anyway, by the time he got there, the lesson would be almost over. He could hear Hermione's voice in his head now: _A great start to your NEWT courses, Harry. Honestly, if you can't even manage to turn up now, I don't know how you're going to manage by the time we get to seventh year_. But no, no she probably wouldn't say that, Harry thought with a mixture of weariness and nostalgia. She'd probably look anxious and pale, and bite her lip, and ask him if anything was wrong. She'd been doing a lot of that in the few days since they got back. And of course something was wrong, lots of things were wrong, but they weren't the sort of things that Hermione could solve with a well-placed charm, or even Ron with a chocolate frog; they weren't the sort of things he could talk about, either.

He heaved a sigh and slipped off the bed, all his limbs feeling heavy with sleep. Of course he had been longing to come back to Hogwarts this year, just as he always did; the Dursleys had been less unbearable than usual after the Order leant on them at the beginning of the summer, and he had been in contact with the Wizarding World every few days, but still, this was his home, this was where he was happy. Except, of course, that he wasn't, not any more. And coming back just seemed to make the ache in his chest worse, because all these people laughing and talking and studying _knew_, they _knew_ that Voldemort was back, that the Death Eaters had all escaped from Azkaban over the summer, and yet they still continued to concentrate on the trivia of their lives as if any of it mattered any more. A wave of anger swelled in his stomach every time he saw a group of giggling girls in the Entrance Hall, or people discussing the latest Quidditch scores, or even Hermione with her head bent over a book. And deep inside him, a little voice said: _You're not angry with them because they're ignoring Voldemort's return. You're angry with them because they're ignoring Sirius' death._

He reached the common room and stopped in front of the fire, wondering where to go next. Wandering the corridors when he was supposed to be in class was not a particularly good idea, he knew, and although he found himself hard-pressed to care about school matters, he didn't much like the idea of detention either. He would probably get it from Snape for missing Potions anyway, and maybe from the new Defence teacher, Professor Ivanov, a tall and slightly arrogant-looking man with deep-set eyes who spoke with a thick accent. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would tolerate feeble excuses about falling asleep. Well, at any rate, there was no sense fishing for more detentions, but he didn't feel like staying here in the empty common room. After a brief moment of consideration, he went back up to the dormitory to fetch his invisibility cloak.

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A few minutes later, Harry was creeping his way along an long, empty corridor on the fourth floor. He had never been this way before, or at least he didn't remember it if he had; there were no doors on either side, and the smoky light of the irregularly-spaced torches threw dancing shadows at the corners of his vision. He paused by the only object to break the monotony of the corridor's bare stone walls: a grimy portrait of an old witch in old-fashioned robes, seated at a round table and reading a book. He was used to sneaking around under the invisibility cloak, of course, he'd been doing it ever since his first year at Hogwarts, but this was the first time that he found that the rush of adrenaline was lacking. It was dangerous still, of course – if Filch or one of the other teachers caught him when he was supposed to be in class, he would certainly be punished – but it seemed so... _pointless_ now, to be thrilled by breaking some petty little school rule. It was the sort of thing that Sirius would have done.

He realised suddenly that he had been standing stock-still and staring at nothing for some time, and he raised his hand to rub his scar, which was prickling as it had been almost constantly for a long time now, a perpetual reminder of everything he was up against. He sighed angrily, and the witch in the portrait looked up and snapped, "Who's there?" in a querulous voice. But Harry ignored her, for he had heard a sound that _did_ bring a rush of adrenaline to his stomach: footsteps coming from somewhere behind him, and turning into the corridor. He turned sharply, seeing a figure approach through the shadows, and began casting about for a place to hide, to let whoever it was go past in safety. He was debating the merits of flattening himself against the wall – but the corridor was narrow and there was nothing to hide behind – and making tracks to the other end – but it was some distance away and his footsteps on the bare flagstone floor would surely give him away – when the figure stepped into a pool of torchlight and his face was illuminated. Before he could stop himself, Harry had let out a gasp of surprise, and the figure stopped short, staring at the air a few inches to the right of Harry's head. For a moment, the two stood, frozen in shock. Then a slow smile spread across the newcomer's face.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus Lupin.

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"So, would you mind telling me what you were doing creeping around the corridors?" Lupin asked, leaning back in his overstuffed armchair with a mug of steaming tea. They were in the Gryffindor common room again, the rain drumming ceaselessly against the warped old window glass. It was still half an hour until the end of lessons, a fact which Harry was sure Lupin knew, but he felt somewhat aggrieved nonetheless.

"Why shouldn't I walk around the corridors?" he asked. "It's my school, I'm _supposed_ to be here." He knew he was being irrational, but he didn't feel like explaining himself.

Lupin didn't seem particularly offended, though. "In that case, why were you wearing an Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry didn't have an answer to that one. He stared into the fire, its heat pressing against his eyes. Patterns formed and twisted in the flames: a lion became a snake, a smile became a grimace, a dog... He turned his head away, not wanting to see what the dog became.

After a moment's silence, Lupin sighed, and Harry looked up to find that he, too, was gazing at the fire, his face sad and tired. "The waiting's the hardest part," he said, almost to himself.

Harry straightened, watching him. It seemed to him that Lupin's face was more lined than it had been the last time they had spoken face-to-face, that the grey in his hair had become more pronounced. "What do you mean?"

Lupin looked at him, and Harry had the sudden odd feeling that he could read his thoughts. "I know how hard it must be for you, Harry," he said quietly. "To have to deal with this every day, and not even be able to do anything. It's difficult enough for those of us who feel useful. I wake up every morning thinking 'will it be today?', nervous to go downstairs in case someone hasn't come back from the night shift, trying not to remember that each parting might be the last..." His eyes were still on Harry, but they saw nothing now, his face closed, looking inwards. "Why hasn't he struck yet? What is he waiting for?" he murmured, and it seemed as if he really had forgotten that Harry was in the room at all. But a moment later he blinked and seemed to come back to reality. He smiled sadly, and sipped his tea. "We must continue to live, Harry. We can't let him take that from us, even though he may take everything else."

Harry dropped his eyes. _Everything else..._ "Is this your way of telling me to work hard and be a good boy?" he asked, his voice sullen.

Lupin didn't answer immediately. When Harry looked up to see why not, he found the older man's eyes on him once more, and looked away quickly. "I know you think no-one understands what you're feeling," Lupin said, "and in some ways, you're right. But if you ever need to talk about... about Sirius, you can always come to me."

Harry didn't look up; he didn't want to see that face full of understanding and pity. He'd seen enough of both already this term to last a lifetime. He stared at the floor in silence, and didn't react when Lupin rose to go. He had thought he would just leave, but he was surprised to feel a hand grip his shoulder; he looked up to find Lupin watching him with an odd look on his face.

"Be careful, Harry," he said, with such quiet intensity that Harry felt suddenly embarrassed, and dropped his eyes again.

Lupin made to leave, and Harry had a sudden urge to call him back, to make him stay even if they didn't speak at all; but in the end he did nothing, and a moment later he heard the portrait slide smoothly shut. Lessons would be over now. In a few moments' time Ron and Hermione would be coming to look for him. Rubbing his eyes, he took a deep breath past the burning lump that was filling his throat, and realised suddenly that he had never asked Lupin what he was doing at Hogwarts.

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"It was nothing special, really," Ron said around a mouthful of baked potato. "Just more resisting Unforgivable Curses and stuff. Nothing we didn't already do last year in the DA. The new guy didn't even seem to notice you weren't there." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "I wonder what's wrong with him?"

Hermione frowned. "What makes you think there's something wrong with him?"

Well, he's a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, isn't he?" Ron said cheerfully. "There's bound to be _something_ wrong with him." He waved his fork around enthusiastically, bits of potato flying off it into Hermione's hair. She brushed them out with a disgusted look, and then turned to face Harry, looking concerned, as he'd known she would.

"Where were you anyway?"

"I fell asleep," said Harry dully, moving his food around his plate.

Hermione shot Ron an angry glance. "You said you couldn't find him!"

Ron swallowed. "Yeah, well. I thought he could do with the rest. You've been looking knackered lately, mate," he said to Harry.

"Oh _honestly_ Ron!" Hermione cried in exasperation. "I know _you_ don't think that lessons are important, but Harry can't just go around missing classes! How's he going to get enough NEWTs to be an Auror?"

Ron looked injured. "I do think lessons are important!" he said, unconvincingly. "I want to be an Auror too! But NEWTs are two years away yet, and how's Harry going to learn anything if he's dead on his feet?" He stopped suddenly, a horrified look on his face. Harry had the sudden urge to laugh; Ron and Hermione seemed to think that saying anything at all that might remind him of Sirius' death was a heinous crime. As if he needed reminding.

Hermione shook her head, flashing a quick glance at Harry. "It's never too early to start thinking about your future," she said, somewhat sanctimoniously. Ron opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by a loud scrape as Harry pushed back his chair. He looked up in surprise, but Harry didn't meet his eyes.

"I'm going to bed," he mumbled, and set off towards the door without waiting for an answer. He heard Hermione hiss something reproving at Ron behind him, and Ron answer defensively, but he didn't turn to look. Reaching the great oak door, he put a hand on it and heard a burst of laughter from the Slytherin table. At this he did turn, suddenly furious, sure that Malfoy would be watching him and smirking. But Malfoy wasn't there.

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The next morning Harry lay in bed, pretending to be asleep as the others got up and went down to breakfast. Ron stood by his bed for a long time, but eventually he clearly decided that sleep was more important to Harry than food, and followed the others down the spiral stairs. Only then did Harry open his eyes, staring up at the canopy of his bed. He hadn't slept well; he was used to that, though, he could no longer remember his last good night's sleep. When he did sleep, he had dreams that made him sit up in the middle of the night biting back screams. They weren't clear, linear dreams like the ones he had had the year before, and for that he was grateful: if Voldemort was still trying to control his mind, he had clearly found a new way of going about it. The dreams he had now were jumbles of images that didn't make sense, and when snatches of them came back to him throughout the day he could find nothing in them that would classify them as nightmares; yet still he would awake, stomach twisting, drenched in cold sweat, and with the feeling of a shadowy menace hanging over him, just waiting for the right moment to stretch out its hand and take everything that Harry held dear. _Not that that's very much anymore_, Harry thought mulishly.

He didn't go down to breakfast, and headed straight off at break-time, muttering something about going to the library. He could feel the anxious gazes of his two friends burning into his back, but he couldn't be bothered to worry about their feelings. He went out into the fine drizzle and walked around the lake, eyeing the black surface, dimpled with thousands of tiny raindrops. The rain insinuated itself under his coat and down his neck until he was soaked through, and he knew that sitting through the next class would be hard and uncomfortable, but couldn't bring himself to care. He kicked a rock moodily into the lake, and watched as it disappeared from sight into the unguessed-at depths. He realised he couldn't remember a single word of the lessons he'd just had, and was even having trouble remembering what subjects they had been; but a moment later he realised he didn't care. He didn't care if he failed all his NEWTs, he didn't care if he never became an Auror. he probably wouldn't get to take the final exams, anyway, the world would probably have ended by then, or he would be dead at the very least. Damn Sybill Trelawney! Why did she have to go opening her fat mouth? He kicked a tree, causing slimy wet leaves to flutter down onto his head, and stubbing his toe in the process. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he looked up and realised it was the beech tree from Snape's memory, the one under which Sirius and his father had sat and acted like they were kings of the world. And he had a sudden urge to scream, to bellow at the tree and everything it represented, at the father and godfather who had left him with nothing but an unpleasant memory of their schooldays. But he didn't scream. He didn't do anything, and a few minutes later he heard the bell ring in the distance, and turned to return to the castle.

He managed a repeat performance at lunch-time, grabbing some food off the table and beating a hasty retreat, sitting morosely on his cloak under the beech tree, hidden from the view of the castle windows, and so it wasn't until the final bell had rung that he finally heard the rumours that had been flying round school all morning. He arrived in the Great Hall, dispirited and still damp from his lunchtime excursion, to find the air buzzing with interest. Crossing to the Gryffindor table, he was about to sit down when Ron put out a hand to stop him.

"Hey, watch it!" he cried, and Harry stared at him in surprise as he snatched something small from the chair that Harry had been about to sit in. Looking up and spotting Harry's expression, Ron grinned and held out his hand. A small Sneakoscope lay on his palm, gleaming softly in the candlelight. "Fred and George sent it me," he said. "They thought it might come in handy, what with everything that's going on."

Harry wondered what had happened to his own Sneakoscope, and then wondered if Ron had noticed that he hadn't used it for years. _Well, considering that pretty much everyone around me seems to be plotting my death half the time, there doesn't seem much point_, he thought angrily, sitting down now that the way was clear.

"So, what do you think?" asked Ron, still grinning. He raised his eyebrows and jerked his head towards the Slytherin table.

Harry glanced at Hermione, but she was watching him too, albeit with a more worried expression. "What do I think about what?" he asked finally, when it was clear that neither of them was planning on filling him in.

"About Malfoy of course," said Ron, looking somewhat surprised. "I thought you'd be over the moon, but you look like a wet weekend in Bognor Regis."

Harry looked from one face to the other again, beginning to feel annoyed. He wished Ron would be a bit less cryptic. "What about Malfoy?" he asked, and his tone was sharper than he'd intended.

Ron looked slightly hurt, but Hermione leaned forward. "You haven't heard, have you?" she said in an undertone. Harry shook his head slowly, wondering what on earth Malfoy had managed to cook up this time. Hermione glanced around, then leaned in closer. "He's gone."

Ron had no such qualms. "Oh come on, Hermione," he said loudly, "it's not as if it's a big secret. He wasn't in Potions yesterday," he continued, turning to Harry with a barely disguised look of glee on his face. "I thought it was a bit odd, but to be honest I was just generally chuffed that Snape couldn't give him any points for arse-kissing. But apparently he hasn't been seen since yesterday morning, and everyone's saying he's run off to join the Barmy Army."

"What, you mean he just disappeared?" Harry asked, interested in spite of himself. "Didn't he tell anyone where he was going?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. "We don't _know_ he's run away," she said. "He might have been kidnapped."

Ron jerked a thumb over to the Slytherin table. No-one seemed to be looking too upset. Even Crabbe and Goyle were chatting away to each other, seemingly unaware of the Malfoy-shaped space between them. "Well, they're not exactly mourning the loss of their Great Leader, are they?" he said. "He probably told them he was going. Wish they'd all follow his example."

"Yeah," Harry added, "and how would you kidnap someone from Hogwarts anyway? You'd have to know the password, since we all know you can't Apparate in the grounds." Hermione stared at him, astonished to find that he finally seemed to have retained that particular bit of knowledge, and he found himself grinning at her despite himself. The expression felt strange on his face.

"Well," Hermione said, "I didn't say that he _had_ been kidnapped. I just don't think we should assume anything."

"Oh come off it," said Ron happily. "It's obvious he's gone to join the Death Eaters and his bloody _father_," the last word was said in a poor imitation of Malfoy's arrogant drawl. "Good riddance, that's what I say."

But at these words, Harry felt a lurch in his stomach, and he fell silent, suddenly feeling the smile drop off his face. Hermione was looking at him, wearing her concerned face again. "Are you OK?" she asked, solicitously.

Harry looked at her, and at Ron, who was looking at him now in some confusion. "You know what this means, don't you?" he said, lowering his voice so that it didn't reach the ears of the nearby Gryffindors.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "No more of Malfoy's scintillating wit?" he hazarded, but fell silent at Harry's expression.

"No," Harry said, feeling the shadow reach out towards him again. "It means it's begun."


	2. The Best Lack All Conviction

Disclaimer: insert standard disclaimer here.

Many thanks to dolphinology, Chou ni Natte, My Cat Frank and Vasaris for your kind reviews.

Dolphinology: Thanks for the heads up about Mr. Dursley. I've fixed that now.

Vasaris: Yes, Harry _is_ rather wangsty, isn't he? More of that to come...

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**Slouching Towards Bethlehem**

**Chapter 2: The Best Lack All Conviction**

None of them had very much appetite that evening. Hermione's face was very pale, and she kept shooting troubled glances at Harry, who was ignoring her. Ron was suddenly struck by the realisation that they looked like a couple who were fighting, and had to stifle a surge of hysterical laughter. He didn't think either of them would have appreciated the sentiment, even if it had come at a more appropriate time. His stomach felt fluttery and nervous every time he looked up from his dinner and saw how grim Harry looked.

Finally, Harry shoved his plate, still full of the food that he'd been pushing around for the last half hour, towards the middle of the table and scraped his chair back. His eyes flicked quickly over to the Slytherin table, as if he was hoping against hope that Malfoy was back by some miracle, and Ron found himself turning too. _Well, this is a turn-up for the books_, he thought as he scanned the crowd of Slytherins for a flash of pale hair. _Never thought I'd be desperate to see Malfoy._ By the time he turned back to his friends, Harry was already halfway to the door, and Hermione was rising to follow him.

It wasn't until they were hurrying to catch up with Harry as he strode down the fourth floor corridor that any of them spoke. Then Hermione grabbed Harry's sleeve as he was about to turn a corner, and said in a very small voice, "Maybe you're wrong."

Harry turned and stared at her; she was breathing harder then usual, but then he had been going at such a pace that even Ron, with his long legs, had been finding it hard work to keep up. She looked back, and her expression was nervous but determined.

"How could I be wrong?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely mystified. "This is what we've been waiting for ever since..."

He trailed off, but Ron knew what he meant. Since the Department of Mysteries. Since Sirius's death.

Hermione shook her head. "Maybe Malfoy just ran away," she said, her voice a little stronger now that Harry didn't seem to be angry.

Harry frowned. "Malfoy would never do anything that dramatic unless his father told him to," he said brusquely. "And if Lucius wants his son out of this school, that means that something's going to happen soon, and it's going to happen here." His voice was calm, as if he was talking about what he'd had for breakfast, but a muscle was twitching in his jaw. He started to turn, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve again.

"Then why are all the other Slytherins still here?" she asked. "Their fathers are Death Eaters too. Why haven't they left? And if they knew Malfoy was leaving because Voldemort was going to attack Hogwarts, why aren't they panicking?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. Maybe they're supposed to be following Malfoy later. Maybe-"

"Then we still have time, we can prepare," Hermione said eagerly.

Harry jerked his sleeve away from her, and his voice was angry now. "Prepare for what? For the end of the world?" He looked from one of them to the other with an exasperated expression. "I can't defeat Voldemort," he said, his voice rising. "There's nothing we can do, even if we have a few days, even if we have a few weeks. He's the most powerful Dark Wizard of this century and I'm a sixteen-year-old boy. What d'you expect me to do?" He shouted the last sentence, his cheeks blotchy with anger. Hermione stepped back involuntarily, and Ron felt a sudden surge of anger himself.

"There's no need to shout, we can hear you perfectly well," he snapped. "And you've faced You-Know-Who before, we all have. Dumbledore won't let anything happen to us here."

Harry shook his head violently. "It's not Dumbledore he wants," he said furiously. "It's me, it's always been me. And when I'm gone, you'll be next," he said, turning suddenly on Hermione, who was staring at him, her dark eyes huge. "And you," he continued, turning back to Ron. "How can you be so complacent?"

"Well, I'd rather be complacent than a bloody doom-merchant," Ron said mutinously. "Dumbledore's always managed to protect us before. He's the only one V... You-Know-Who's scared of, everyone knows that."

All the rage suddenly seemed to go out of Harry, and he sagged, looking exhausted. "But it's not up to him," he murmured. "In the end it's not up to him, or you, either of you." He looked like he might say something else, but then he turned abruptly and ran down the corridor away from them. Hermione started after him, but Ron grabbed her arm.

"Let him cool down first," he said. "There's no talking to him when he's in this mood."

Hermione bit her lip. "He's always in this mood these days," she said, so quietly that Ron wasn't sure he had heard it at all. He didn't answer, staring down the corridor where his best friend's back had just disappeared. It was true, he thought. Harry had been difficult from time to time before – the beginning of last year sprang to mind – but ever since they had got back to school, Harry had been walking around in a thick cloud of gloom. Of course, he had an excuse, a good one at that; but Ron was worried, and at the same time exasperated. He wanted to _do_ something, wanted to help Harry – but he couldn't even get close. Sometimes he would look up to see his best friend staring at him as if he was a stranger; and that, thought Ron, was the worst feeling in the world.

"You don't think he's right, do you?" Hermione's voice broke into his reverie. "You don't think Voldemort's coming here?"

He flinched automatically at the sound of that name, that since his earliest childhood had evoked images from his darkest dreams, and waited a moment before speaking, trying to force a confident expression onto his face.

"He can't be. There's no way he could get past Dumbledore."

"Right." Hermione nodded, but Ron couldn't help thinking that neither of them sounded very convinced.

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There were flowers, but they were made of ice. He knew that they would crumble at his touch, but he reached for them anyway, and felt the cold brush against his fingertips for a moment before they were gone; he was left with an aching feeling of emptiness and a dull sense of inevitability. _It only lasts for a moment, and in trying to grasp it, we lose it forever_. A light was growing somewhere in the darkness behind him, a warm golden light as unlike the freezing stars as a puddle to the ocean. It illuminated the edges of the buildings, their graceful spires and ancient arcs. But it was growing too hot, too hot and too close, and he turned, shielding his eyes to see where it was coming from, to find that it was too late, and the world was engulfed in flames.

A sharp pain in his scar woke Harry, and he sat up quickly, the movement sending droplets of water rolling off the invisibility cloak in a silver shower. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but then he felt the cold, wet ground beneath him and the solid bulk of the beech tree at his back. Before him he could hear a gentle slapping noise as the waters of the invisible lake, whipped into choppy motion by the rising wind, broke against the shore. To his left, the castle loomed, a darker shape against the cloudy night sky, all of the lights now out except one, high in one of the curtain walls. He had no idea what the time was, but the rain had slackened off to a steady, dispiriting drizzle, and he was soaked through, despite his cloak.

He sighed, shifting his stiff legs slightly. The details of the evening were slowly coming back to him, filtering through the fog that his disturbing dreams had sown in his mind. Ron and Hermione. How could they be so _blind_? _You haven't told them_, a little voice whispered at the back of his mind. _You haven't told them about the prophecy. That's why they still think Dumbledore can save them._ But he shoved that thought away, struggling to his feet, the invisibility cloak clinging to him in wet folds. He stood for a moment, watching the light that glimmered in the castle wall. It would be soon now, very soon; tomorrow, he was sure, everything would change. If anyone had been watching him at that moment – although no-one except Mad-Eye Moody and possibly Albus Dumbledore would have been able to see him, of course – would have seen a strange, grim smile spread across his face. At least the waiting would be over.

-----

Harry woke long before dawn; he knew he could not have been back in the castle long, because his hair was still damp. He was surprised he had managed to sleep at all, but he had, an uneasy doze that, as far as he remembered, had been free of dreams. He watched with little interest as dull light began to spread across the ceiling of the dormitory. Finally, when he could no longer bear the inactivity, he hauled himself out of bed, his limbs feeling numb and heavy, and looked out of the window, wanting to see what the weather would be like on this, which might be the last day of his life.

Sometime in the night, the rain had stopped. Out over the Forbidden Forest, the sun was rising into a clear sky, still the greyish-white of very early morning; millions upon millions of tiny shards of light greeted the sun with their own glitter, gleaming back from every blade of grass and spiders web. It was going to be a glorious day.

Harry staggered back from the window and dropped onto the bed, feeling a wrenching sense of betrayal. Even the weather was unable to realise the significance of Malfoy's absence. It had managed to rain for more than a week, and now this? _I don't want to die on a sunny day, damn it_. He felt an absurd urge to shut the thick curtains against the light that was now streaming in, glinting off the dust motes that danced in the air. But instead he wrenched open his trunk savagely, rooting through it for clean robes, feeling a sense of bitter satisfaction when first one, then four sleepy heads were raised to see what all the fuss was about. _Well, they should get up early and enjoy the sunshine_, he thought. _It might be their last chance_.

-----

But it didn't happen. Harry went through the day in a daze, unable to concentrate on anything anyone said to him; every loud noise made his stomach lurch; he found himself staring out of the window at the sparkling, newly-washed landscape, searching for the Dark Mark or anything at all that would indicate that the time was close; and yet, there was nothing.

They had their first Magical Transportation class just before lunch. Hermione was already waiting at the door when Harry arrived, and she gave him a faint smile. Both she and Ron had obviously been trying to act normal at breakfast, but Harry had been too drained to try and argue with them again. They would find out soon enough. Even so, he didn't return Hermione's smile, but she didn't seem to notice, turning with what looked like relief as Ron came hurtling along the corridor, grinning all over his face.

"Well, looks like she's finally got herself a new punch-bag!"

Ron, for reasons which neither Harry nor Hermione had managed to fathom, was still taking Divination. Harry hadn't asked if Sybill Trelawney had continued to predict his death now that he was no longer in the class – to be honest, he hadn't much cared.

Hermione was looking slightly perplexed. "What do you mean, Ron?"

Ron shot a quick sideways glance at Harry. "She was predicting Malfoy's death all morning," he said gleefully. "It was brilliant! As soon as someone told her he was missing, she was off! She's got a seriously brutal imagination, that one. I'm surprised they let her be a teacher."

He glanced at Harry again, seeming to be waiting for something. Harry closed his eyes for a second. "Well, if Malfoy is with the Death Eaters and war is coming," he muttered, "maybe she was right for once."

He opened his eyes to see both of his friends staring at him, Ron looking disappointed and slightly hurt, Hermione worried and unhappy. He felt a brief stab of guilt, but ignored it. _It's only the truth_, he thought, _they need to face up to it sometime_. Then Madam Hooch arrived, and he was able to turn his back on their silent accusations.

"The Magical Transportation NEWT consists of two elements, Apparating and the creation of Portkeys." Madam Hooch's voice was clear and carrying, but Harry's eyes strayed to the window. _Where was he? Why wasn't he here yet?_ "The first half of the course is concerned largely with the theory and practice of Apparating; however, you would do well to begin to study the theory of Portkeys in your own time this year, since it's a very complex and difficult charm." Harry found himself drifting away from what Madam Hooch was telling them about the complexities of the safe and instantaneous transportation of large objects over long distances. Maybe if he'd been able to master Portkey creation today, then the three of them would have been able to get away, but as it was, it was too late for that.

-----

Harry was half-way to the Gryffindor common room when he realised that someone was shouting his name. He turned in surprise to see Ron come running up to him, followed a moment later by Hermione, breathing heavily. "Harry," panted Ron. "Where on Earth are you going?"

"The common room," Harry said, wondering what was so confusing about that. His two friends exchanged glances.

"But Harry," Hermione said carefully, "what about lunch?"

It was lunchtime, of course. Why had he thought it was time to go back to the tower?

"Harry," Ron said warily, "you've really got to sort yourself out, mate. You're acting like a total nutter."

Hermione shot him an angry glance, but at that moment they were interrupted by an loud whistling sound. Harry started, his nerves jangling. _Is this it? Is it time?_ He looked around the corridor, trying to locate the source of the noise, and looked back to see Ron holding his new Sneakoscope in the palm of his hand. It was whizzing round at great speed, the torchlight sparkling off its moving surfaces. Harry frowned, but at that moment they heard voices and footsteps coming towards them.

"Quick," Hermione hissed, and dragged them through the nearest door; it led to an empty classroom, the silent desks shrouded in dust-sheets. "Shut that thing up," she whispered fiercely at Ron, who wrapped the Sneakoscope in his Gryffindor scarf and stuffed it back in his pocket.

The footsteps came closer, and paused right outside the door, which was still slightly ajar. The three of them stood listening in the dark classroom, hardly daring to breathe.

"My dear madam," said a man's voice, and Ron looked at Harry and mouthed the word 'Dumbledore', "let me assure you that we are doing our utmost-"

He was cut off by a bark of laughter that was anything but infectious. "Let me assure _you_, my _dear_ Dumbledore," said a woman's voice with deep sarcasm, "that whatever it is you are doing, it is not sufficient. Let me also remind you that as headmaster of this school, you have a duty to ensure the safety of the children here. I wouldn't call allowing my son to be abducted from your care doing your _utmost_ anything, would you?"

"If I might interject," Dumbledore's voice came again. "We have yet to ascertain whether young Master Malfoy left Hogwarts of his own volition-"

This time there was no laughter, and when the woman spoke again, her voice was cold enough to send a shiver down Harry's spine. "Are you suggesting that my son _ran away_?"

"I am not suggesting anything at this stage," Dumbledore said carefully. "But it would not be the first time a child has run away from this school."

There was a pause, in which Harry could almost feel the air temperature drop below zero. Then the woman spoke.

"Draco always said that you played favourites. I didn't want to believe it, but now I see that it was true. His father was right, we should have sent him to Durmstrang." There was a swirl of material against the door, and suddenly the three of them pulled back as a tall figure dressed in black passed in front of the gap. She paused, just out of sight. "You had better find my son, Dumbledore," she said, her voice very calm, "or I shall see that you live to regret it."

Her footsteps receded down the corridor. There was a moment of silence, then they heard a heavy sigh, and Dumbledore shuffled away in the other direction. Harry allowed himself to relax.

"Well," said Ron, shaking his head, "I guess Malfoy inherited his charming personality from both sides of his family."

"She doesn't know," Harry muttered to himself, wondering what this new information might signify. "She doesn't know where he is."

"Not quite," said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. The two of them stared at her, and she pointed at Ron's pocket. "The Sneakoscope," she said. "Narcissa Malfoy was lying about not knowing where her son is."

Ron pulled out the bundle of scarf and unwrapped it. The Sneakoscope was silent now. He looked up, shaking his head. "But why come all the way here to read Dumbledore the riot act if she knows where he is?" he asked. "Unless she just enjoys shouting at people," he added thoughtfully.

Harry was shaking his head, too. "It's a diversion," he said. "She wants everyone to think she doesn't know."

"But why?" Ron asked again. "If an army of Death Eaters is heading this way at this very moment, why bother with all the secrecy?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered, staring at the bar of yellow light that filtered in from the corridor. "But she's up to something."

-----

They found out what she was up to the next morning at breakfast, when a barn owl swooped down onto the table in front of Hermione and dropped her copy of _The Daily Prophet_ into the dish of marmalade. Hermione, tutting, picked up the newspaper and brushed off stray chunks of orange, then gasped and spread it out in front of her. "Harry, Ron," she hissed, "_look_."

Harry craned his neck round to see the headline. 'Student Abducted From Hogwarts', the front page screamed. 'Dumbledore "Unsympathetic"'.

"'One of the wizarding world's most promising youngsters disappeared from his bed at Hogwarts on Monday'," Hermione read out loud. "'The young man's mother, who wished to remain anonymous, was highly distraught at the apparent abduction of her son."

Ron snorted loudly. "Course she wants to remain anonymous. Wouldn't do much for her credibility if they knew that hubby dearest was an escaped Death Eater now, would it?"

Hermione ignored him. "'I went to the school to ask the headmaster what he was doing to find my son, and he accused my poor boy of running away to cause trouble,' said the boy's mother. 'I'm amazed that a man of his cruelty is entrusted with the care of so many of our children.' The boy, who is in his sixth year at Hogwarts, is one of the brightest and most popular children at the school.'"

Ron choked on his cornflakes at this, turning bright red. "Malfoy? Bright? I've seen brighter things in my dad's cellar at the dead of night."

Hermione glared at him. "Ron, you might take this _seriously_," she said.

Ron shook his head. "Oh, come on, Hermione, _no-one's_ going to take this seriously. Everyone knows Malfoy's just done a runner."

But Harry was fighting a growing nervousness. "Maybe we know," he said, "but not everyone will. This is another attempt to discredit Dumbledore. If they can get him away from Hogwarts, it'll be that much easier for Voldemort to attack."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, then Ron cleared his throat. "Well, what else is there apart from that load of rubbish?"

Hermione turned the page hastily, scanning through the headlines. "Nothing much," she said, flicking through a few more pages. "Wizards at Cambridge working on a new type of power-transfer charm, one of the Puddlemere United players has a new haircut..." She stopped suddenly, turning pale. "Oh," she whispered.

"What is it?" Harry asked, craning his neck round further. Hermione looked up at him with an expression of horror. "Nothing," she said in an odd voice, and tried to pull the newspaper away, but Ron's elbows were leaning on the edge, and before she could cover it up Harry saw the headline: 'Sirius Black Declared Officially Dead.'

-----

Remus Lupin sat back from the breakfast table and stared at the _Daily Prophet_ headline. The small article was illustrated with the familiar picture of Sirius on his way to Azkaban, face filthy, hair and beard wild and unkempt. Lupin closed his eyes, feeling ill, then swept the paper to the floor. That was it, then.

He sat for a long time at the table, staring at nothing. He had done his best to make the house, Sirius' old house, as comfortable as possible, but now the shadows and cobwebs seemed to have crept back into the corners, and the light filtering through the kitchen window seemed once more grey and dirty. Of course, he had known Sirius was never coming back. Had known it, the full horror of it, from the moment he had seen him fall through the veil, overconfident and reckless as usual. At any other time he might have found that look of astonishment on his face amusing; it was the one he always wore when one of his clever schemes went awry. _Sirius, if only you hadn't always been so damn arrogant_.

The memory was bitter, and he tried to push it away. Rising, he went to the drawing room, seeking a way to forget about the finality of those words. They were nothing but print on a page, ephemeral, tomorrow they would be wrapping fish and chips in Diagon Alley; yet they meant the end of a hope that Lupin had not even known he felt.

There was something he had to do, though, now. He should have done it before, but somehow it had never felt like the right time. Opening a drawer in a great, old chest-of-drawers made of some dark wood, he began to sort through Sirius' private papers.

-----

It was some time before he found what he was looking for. It was just under a picture of the four of them, Sirius and James handsome and smiling, waving at him from the centre of the picture, and himself and Peter on either side of them, smiling too. He felt his legs tremble suddenly, and had to sit down on one of the unpleasantly spiky-looking drawing-room chairs. They all looked so happy. And now...

Getting to his feet, he thrust the picture into the back of the drawer, making a silent vow to himself to come back and face it later, and pulled out the thick envelope from underneath it. It was unmarked, but nonetheless Lupin knew immediately what it was. He closed his eyes for a moment, preparing himself, then tore the envelope open and removed a sheaf of papers, his eyes going to the first paragraph. _I, Sirius Black_, he read, _being of sound mind and body..._

-----

"Mr. Potter, a word?"

Harry, who had almost succeeded in making it out of the potions classroom without Snape calling him back, looked round with a mixture of indifference and dread. He had been waiting for the inevitable all through the lesson, aware of Snape's beady eyes watching him as he fumbled his way through simple procedures in a fog of grief, spilling essence of marigold all over the desk when he thought he heard a dog barking outside the window and losing Gryffindor five points for failing to answer a question directed at him. Snape had still said nothing about his absence from Monday's class, but he knew, in a distant way, that it was coming. He knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Everything was falling apart.

He was aware that Ron and Hermione had stopped too, in the doorway, and wished they hadn't. He was tired of their concern, tired of being treated as if he might break if they said the wrong thing; he was broken already. But Snape wasn't looking at them; his eyes bored into Harry's as if he was trying to see all the way through his skull, and he was just opening his mouth to speak, an expression of grim triumph on his pinched features, when there was a stir and a slight cough behind Harry. The potion master's eyes flicked up, then narrowed.

"Professor Lupin," he grated, his lips curling into a sneer. "What an... unexpected surprise."

Harry turned sharply. Lupin stood in the doorway, smiling amiably at Snape. "Hello Severus," he said, as if he had just wandered in for a cup of tea. "I wonder if I could borrow Harry for a moment?"

Snape's mouth compressed into a thin line. "I wasn't aware that you were still in the employ of Hogwarts," he said, almost spitting the words.

Lupin didn't seem affected in the slightest by Snape's obvious hostility. "Well, no, Severus, you know I'm not. I just popped in to have a word with Harry." He paused, waiting, but Snape, glaring at him murderously, said nothing. "It _is_ rather important," Lupin added.

If looks could kill, Lupin would have been dead several times over; but as it was, Snape clenched his jaw so tightly that the muscles stood out against his sallow skin and made the smallest of gestures, that Harry took to be permission to leave. He didn't need to be told a second time; he was almost out of the door when Snape spoke between gritted teeth.

"I'm not finished with you Potter," he ground out. "I'll see you in detention tomorrow."

Harry paused for a moment. "Yes, Professor Snape," he said without turning round, then stepped out of the classroom.

-----

"I suppose you've seen _The Daily Prophet_?"

Harry looked up, surprised at such a direct question. Lupin was smiling at him sadly. They had walked half-way around the lake without speaking, and the wind was cold enough to make Harry shiver, though the sun shone from a cloudless sky.

"Yes, I've seen it," he said dully. Ron and Hermione hadn't mentioned it again since breakfast. As if it was so easy for him to forget.

"It's difficult, I know," Lupin said, slowing his pace and staring across the water to where Hogwarts rose. Harry kicked a stone into the water and tried to fight the burning sensation in his throat. He had long since given up trying to research ways in which Sirius might come back, and yet...

"Harry," Lupin said, coming to a stop, his face serious now. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Harry stopped too, looking out across the sparkling water rather than see the pity on Lupin's face. "What is it?"

"Sirius' will."

Harry was surprised enough to look sharply at the older man, and he saw no pity there, only understanding. He looked away quickly. "I didn't know he had one."

Lupin nodded. "I found it among his papers, along with this." He removed a sheaf of paper and a thin, cloth-wrapped object from the pocket of his robes. He handed the latter to Harry. "I think he wanted you to have it," he said quietly.

Harry unwrapped the bundle and felt his heart sink; a flash of light gleamed off the surface of a small mirror, identical to the one Sirius had given him the year before. _If you ever need to speak to me_, he had said, _say my name_. He looked into the mirror desperately, but it reflected only his own face.

Lupin had unfolded the sheaf of paper. "He left almost everything to you, Harry. The house in Grimmauld Place, the furniture-"

Harry, still staring at his face in the mirror, felt the burning sensation in his throat become almost too much to bear. He swallowed, hard. "Sell it," he whispered, hating himself as he heard his voice crack.

Lupin paused. "I know how difficult this must be-"

"How could you know?" Harry screamed suddenly, surprising himself as well as Lupin. "How _could _you? You've never lost everyone you ever cared about!"

He was glaring straight at Lupin now, breathing heavily. The older man held his gaze for a long moment. "Is that what you think, Harry?" he asked finally, his voice quiet.

Harry looked away, staring down at the mirror once again, not wanting to care. "Sell everything," he repeated, without emotion, then thrust the mirror into his pocket, turned, and began to walk away as fast as he could. He heard Lupin call after him, but he couldn't make out the words. He didn't look back until he reached the castle, and then he saw the small, dark figure on the other side of the lake raise its hand as if in farewell. He made no gesture in return, but turned and climbed the steps, passing inside through the great oak doors.

-----

Lupin saw Harry pause and look back, and raise his hand, trying to show the boy there was no hard feelings. He didn't know whether Harry saw him, but at any rate he didn't return the gesture, but disappeared into the castle. Lupin sighed, looking down at the papers in his hand and the paragraph he had really wanted to speak to Harry about. Perhaps today was not the right day to tell him, after all. Perhaps he had been selfish, coming here so soon. In some ways, it was lucky he hadn't had a chance to get on to the real subject of his visit; God knew, he didn't want Harry thinking he was trying to replace Sirius.

Sighing, he read the paragraph through once more. _With regards to my guardianship of Harry James Potter, son of the late James and Lily Potter, on the occasion of my death I pass this solemn duty to Remus John Lupin, of 12 Grimmauld Place, London._ With a last look back at the castle, Lupin thrust the sheaf of paper back into his pocket and turned away.

-----

Harry ran up the stairs to the portrait that led to the Gryffindor common room. "Hinkypunk," he said, then looked round sharply, thinking he had heard someone nearby snigger. There was no-one in the corridor, and Harry was in no mood to go investigating, so he stepped through the hole and strode through the empty common room to the stairs that led to the dormitory. Once there, he flung open his trunk lid and dug around inside, until his fingers closed on a thin hard bundle wrapped in soft cloth. Straightening, he unwrapped the mirror that Sirius had given him, and stared at his own angry, pale face reflected in the glass.

"Sirius," he said. "Sirius." He heard his voice echo back at him from his pocket, and pulled out the mirror Lupin had given him. "Sirius," he whispered, and the image of him that was reflected in the second mirror whispered it too, a moment later.

Harry sank down to sit on the bed, feeling something inside him break. He stared at the wall, the patches of sunlight reflected off the lake playing across the bare stone. It was beautiful.

He leapt to his feet, turning to face the opposite wall, the one above his bed, that was dark and cold like stone should be. Feeling rage overwhelm him, he flung the mirror that Lupin had brought towards the wall, and for good measure he pointed his wand at it and yelled, "REDUCTO!" The mirror smashed into a thousand glittering pieces, scattering across the bed and the floor. Harry stared, somewhat shocked at the force of his own anger, which had now receded once more into dull misery. He remembered Ron and Hermione, looking so wary and worried, and Lupin, tired and sad, and a wave of guilt made him feel nauseous. Savagely, he turned away from the mess. The house elves would clean it up.

-----

"What? You told him to _sell_ the house? Harry, how _could_ you?"

Harry looked up in surprise at Hermione's tone. It was the first time she'd spoken to him in that reproachful way of hers for days. He frowned.

"Why would I want to keep it?" he asked. "Sirius always hated the place, and I can see why. It's a miserable old dump."

"Yeah," Ron broke in, "but that's where the Order have their headquarters. It's really useful."

Harry hadn't thought of that, but he didn't have time to consider it before Hermione sighed impatiently.

"It's also where Professor Lupin _lives_. If you sell the house he'll be homeless."

Harry found himself staring across the Great Hall at all the students laughing and eating; Theodore Knott was hurrying in late with Pansy Parkinson, who looked like she might have been crying; at the Ravenclaw table Cho and her friends were giggling at something. He tried to imagine Lupin homeless, but could not. He could take care of himself, couldn't he? He always had before. He turned back to the table, and took a large swig of pumpkin juice to avoid Hermione's glare. "I'll tell him I didn't mean it," he muttered, feeling put-upon.

"Good," Hermione replied, but she was snappish and difficult for the rest of the evening, and Harry was glad to escape to the dormitory. To be honest, he was feeling completely exhausted, unsurprisingly given the amount of sleep he had been having recently. His limbs felt heavy and numb, and he barely had the energy to shrug his pyjamas on and notice that the shards of the broken mirror had indeed been cleared away before he fell into bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-----

He didn't know where he was.

That was the first thing that came to his mind when he surfaced, tendrils of sleep still clinging to him and trying to drag him back down into warm darkness. But the feeling of cold stone beneath his head was not a dream, and it brought him rushing back to himself more surely than a bucket of water or an insistent alarm.

Stone.

He didn't open his eyes, feeling that he should try and assess the situation in as much detail as possible before he let anyone who might be watching know he was awake. Part of him was surprised that he was thinking so clearly: it was the part of him that knelt some distance away, stomach twisted in panic; but he pushed that part away, forcing himself to be careful and analytical.

So. He was lying on a flat stone surface. He could feel it, unyielding and gritty, under the back of his head. One of his arms was outstretched, and his hand was cold where it touched the stone. The air was cold too, though no colder than was usual in the dormitories in winter. For a moment, he wondered if he were simply lying on the floor of the dormitory having fallen out of bed; but something told him that that was not the case.

He concentrated, trying to remember if anything unusual had happened before he had gone to bed. Hermione had been angry, he had been exhausted, someone had cleared up the mirror. Voldemort still had not struck. It had been no more unusual than any other day in recent weeks.

There was nothing more he could glean; no sounds, no smells, no memory of how he had come to be wherever it was that he was. It was time to take the plunge. Drawing a deep breath, he opened his eyes to see a ceiling, made of something that looked like concrete, some eight feet above him. Nothing happened, and so he sat up cautiously, to see a featureless wall made of the same material a few feet ahead. Then he froze, every nerve twanging, as he heard a familiar drawling voice behind him.

"Well, Potter, I see you've decided to rejoin the land of the living."

He turned, horrified, to see Draco Malfoy smirking at him from the corner of what he now realised could only be a cell. That hated face twisted into an ugly expression, half scowl, half sarcastic smile. "For the time being, at least," he added.


	3. What Rough Beast

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! isn't working too well at the moment, so I can't list you all by name, but I'm very grateful that you took the time to do it.

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** Slouching Towards Bethlehem**

**Chapter Three: What Rough Beast**

Harry was on his feet in an instant, reaching into his back pocket for his wand. It wasn't there; not only that, he didn't even _have_ a back pocket. He was still wearing his pyjamas.

He kept his hand behind him, although Malfoy must have known that he didn't have his wand. "Malfoy," he said, as calmly as he could. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy didn't move. His mouth was still twisted into a sneer, but something about him seemed different. "I could ask you the same thing, Potter. But I won't, because I'm not in the habit of asking bloody stupid questions."

Harry shook his head, which still seemed to be full of sleepy cobwebs even though he was wide awake now, trying to understand what on Earth was going on. It was what he'd been waiting for ever since Malfoy had disappeared – even ever since Voldemort had got his body back. So why didn't the scheming little bastard make his move? _He's trying to unnerve me_, he thought. _He knows that waiting is the worst part_. He hated to admit it, but he was succeeding.

"Come on then," Harry spat, trying to change his fear into anger. "You've been waiting for this long enough. Do whatever it is you brought me here to do."

Malfoy looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. Harry became uncomfortably aware that his pyjamas were made of white flannel and had a pattern of smiling hippogriffs – Mrs. Weasley had given them to him for his birthday. Malfoy, on the other hand, was dressed in what looked like a very expensive green silk suit, kind of Chinese-y looking. _Why is he wearing that?_ Harry wondered, feeling somewhat detached from proceedings, but Malfoy's voice interrupted his train of thought. "That was absolutely pathetic, Potter," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Was that supposed to be an example of the famous Gryffindor courage? I can't say I'm impressed. But then, why would I be impressed by a muggle-loving freak like you? Oh dear!" His sarcastic smile broadened slightly, though his face seemed paler than usual. "Did I scare the poor little hero?"

Harry realised he was trembling; but it was anger, not fear, that was causing the tremors. "Shut up, Malfoy, you inbred idiot," he snarled. "I know what you're up to, so just give it up." He straightened up, raising his chin. "Come on, give it your best shot."

Malfoy straightened too, but didn't move from his corner, and the scornful amusement on his face was replaced by a scowling mixture of anger and something else, that Harry couldn't quite identify. "I'd love to, you total and utter moron," he said, very clearly. "I'd come over there and wipe that look off your speccy little face, if I wasn't chained. To. The. Wall."

-----

"Where's Harry?"

Ron sighed and sat down. His head felt thick, as if he hadn't slept, though he'd fallen asleep immediately after dinner the night before. The last thing he needed was to deal with the third degree from Hermione.

"He'd already left when I got up," he said, reaching for some toast. "I suppose that means he's gone off in a strop again."

Dean Thomas slumped into the seat next to Ron and groaned. "I feel terrible," he muttered. Ron shot him a sympathetic look.

Hermione was not about to be distracted, however. "Ron, can't you be a little more sympathetic?"

Ron shook his head. "Actually no, I can't," he said shortly. "I'm really not in the mood this morning. If he wants to go off and sulk, let him. He'll come back when he's ready."

Hermione looked shocked, and opened her mouth, but Ron raised his hand wearily. "Please, Hermione. You're making my head hurt."

-----

Lupin rubbed his eyes and sighed. He hadn't slept well, and had been up before dawn, sitting at the table in the gloomy kitchen reading, and trying to ignore the will that lay accusingly on the dresser. Now it was finally late enough for him to have breakfast without feeling ridiculous, but he found he had little appetite. There was a meeting of the Order that night to prepare for, to discuss the Malfoy problem, and then it was full moon next Saturday so he would have to go up to Hogwarts for the third time that week to ask Snape to brew the Wolfsbane potion, since he hadn't been able to find him the day before after talking to Harry. And since he would be there anyway, there would be nothing to stop him from talking to Harry about – everything. Lupin had resolved the night before that he would speak to Harry again before putting the house on the market. He knew the boy would need some time to adjust to the idea that he owned it now; privately, though, he didn't think Harry would change his mind. The house had resisted all efforts to make it even slightly comfortable, and whenever the portrait in the hall woke up and screamed at Lupin, both for being a mudblood and a Dark Creature, he felt the urge to burn the place to the ground. It would have to be sold to a member of the Order though. Lupin carefully didn't think about what he was going to do when it was.

Then there were the other matters. His first instinct had been to arrange Sirius' memorial by himself – it wasn't as if Harry didn't have enough on his plate. But then he had decided he ought to at least give the boy the option of being in on the proceedings; Harry had not known Sirius for long, but he had been one of the most important people in his life. And then there was... Lupin turned a page in the newspaper that he wasn't really reading, and carefully didn't look over to the dresser. Maybe it was still to early for that. He tried, for the hundredth time since he had returned from Hogwarts the day before, to forget the cold tone of Harry's voice at their last meeting. When he was ready, he would accept Lupin as his guardian. Lupin could never replace James or Sirius, but he could be... He could be... Throwing down the newspaper in exasperation, Lupin went to make some tea.

-----

"Chained... to the wall?" Harry stared at Malfoy doubtfully. The other boy rolled his eyes and jerked his right hand up; metal glinted at his wrist, and something heavy-sounding clanked, hidden by the full sleeve of what Harry belatedly realised were silk pyjamas.

"You didn't think I was hanging around in a freezing cold cell for my own amusement, did you?" he snapped. "Honestly, Potter, I know you're not very bright, but do try to keep up."

Harry felt the anger that had been dissipated by his surprise begin to stir again. He forced it away. "But you ran away!"

Malfoy looked horrified for a moment. "Is that what they're saying?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah... Everyone says you ran away to meet up with your father."

Malfoy sank to the ground, and Harry suddenly identified the emotion he'd been seeing in the other boy's face: it was fear. "So they're not coming to find me," he muttered, and brushed a stray lock of blond hair from his eyes. Harry noticed that his face was none too clean, and his hair looked greasy.

"Dumbledore's been trying to find you," he said, remembering the conversation he had overheard the day before, but deciding not to mention the part about Dumbledore not being sure that Malfoy had been abducted.

"Dumbledore!" The other boy spat. "That old fool! He couldn't find his arse with both hands."

Harry scowled, but Malfoy wasn't watching him. "My father will find me," he said, as if to himself. "He will!" This time he looked up, and stared at Harry, as if hoping for confirmation.

"Well," Harry started, thinking that he really hoped Lucius _didn't_ find them. "Maybe Ron and Hermione-"

"Oh for God's sake, Potter!" Malfoy yelled, and looked like he would get back on his feet, but sank back onto the floor. "You and your troop of bloody Girl Guides! How the Hell d'you think that ginger twat and his mudblood girlfriend are going to get us out of here? Even _you_ can't be that deluded, Gryffindor or no."

Harry closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. It was going to be a long day.

-----

"Right, now I'm really worried."

_When are you anything else, these days?_ Ron wondered, looking at Hermione's anxious face. "Harry's been skipping classes all term," he said, but without conviction. He was worried too. He'd been down to the lake to check all his friend's favourite brooding-spots, but he had been nowhere to be found. "We'll ask Dumbledore after lunch," he decided.

But it wasn't Dumbledore they found first, it was Lupin. He was just arriving in the entrance hall as Ron and Hermione exited the Great Hall, and smiled broadly as he waved them over.

"Hello, you two," he said. "How are you both? Where's Harry?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"We don't know," Ron blurted out.

"Oh Professor Lupin, it's terrible!" cried Hermione at the same time.

Lupin looked from one to the other, his smile fading. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"He's missing," Hermione said in a sobbing kind of voice.

Lupin looked sharply at Ron. "Is this true?" he asked urgently. Ron just nodded slowly.

Lupin became very pale. If Ron had not been convinced before that Harry was really missing, he was now; he had expected Lupin to laugh at them, or ask them for evidence, the way that adults always did when confronted with one of their discoveries. But instead he just reached out and gripped Ron's arm with one hand and Hermione's with the other.

"This is very important," he said carefully. "When did you last see him?"

Hermione looked at Ron, who shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of Lupin's stare. "Last night," he said, feeling the grip on his arm begin to become painful. "When we went to bed. He must have got up early this morning, the rest of us slept late."

Lupin stared at him for another long moment, and Ron looked away, feeling colour rise to his face. Then, the older man straightened up and released them both. Hermione rubbed her arm, looking a little afraid. Lupin rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking very old. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's all right," Hermione whispered. "What are we going to do about Harry?"

"You two will not do anything," Lupin said firmly, seeming to recover his composure. "I know you're worried, but you need to let us adults deal with this." He looked from one to the other. "If you find out anything, you must come to me or Professor Dumbledore immediately, don't go off on your own trying to be heroes. Understood?"

Ron nodded a little shame-facedly, wondering if Lupin was psychic. Beside him, Hermione said "yes" in a very small voice.

Lupin nodded, seeming satisfied. "I'm going to speak with Professor Dumbledore about this now," he said. "I'll keep you updated as far as possible." He started to walk away, but paused and turned. "We'll find him, don't worry," he said, in a reassuring tone, but Ron was sure that Hermione too must have noticed the tension around his eyes.

-----

"Right," said Hermione breathlessly. "We can do a Locator spell."

They were hurrying through the Gryffindor common room; everyone else was still downstairs, and there were only ten minutes to go before lessons started. Hermione had gone haring off the moment Lupin was out of sight, and Ron had had to almost run to catch up with her. Now, she glanced quickly around the empty room and started up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

"Hermione!" Ron cried, aghast. There was no answer but the sound of her footsteps echoing on stone, however, and so, after a moment of speechless astonishment, he followed after her. She was already in the 6th year dormitory when he arrived, and going through Harry's trunk.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, somewhat disgruntled that the stairs didn't turn into a slide for _girls_ trying to get into the _boys' _dormitories.

"Trying to find something with his DNA on it," Hermione replied, rummaging around in the trunk. "Help me, will you?"

Ron just stared for a moment. Hermione pulled a small, round mirror out of the trunk and stared at it for a moment; then, becoming aware that Ron had not moved, she looked up in surprise. "Ron? Do you want to find Harry or not?"

Still having no idea what was going on, Ron stepped forward nervously and fingered a comb on Harry's dresser. "Right. So what does this deeyenay look like, then?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "You know, like a hair or a bit of his skin. Like for the Polyjuice potion."

"Oh. You mean like this?" Ron held up the comb, which had three or four long black hairs caught in it.

Hermione stood up with a triumphant smile. "Exactly!" She reached over and took the comb.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about now?" Ron asked, wondering if he really wanted to know. "We told Lupin we wouldn't do anything."

"We're not going to do anything _dangerous_," Hermione said, looking a little shifty. "We're just going to see if we can find out where Harry is. So we can tell Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin."

Ron stared at her. "Hermione, is this against school rules? We're prefects, remember?"

Hermione blushed. "No," she said obstinately. "There's nothing in the rules about Locator spells."

"But Dumbledore wouldn't want us to be doing one, would he?" Ron asked shrewdly.

Hermione scowled. "Since when do _you_ care about the rules anyway?" she snapped.

Ron grinned. "I don't. I'm just amazed you've finally come round to my point of view."

"Yes, well, Harry's in trouble..." Hermione trailed off, frowning. "Did you hear something?"

Ron shook his head. "Like what?"

"Shh!" Hermione cocked her head to one side, seeming to be listening intently. "There it is again!"

But this time Ron _had_ heard it – a tiny voice, calling his name.

-----

Harry peered up at the corner of the ceiling, which looked slightly crumbly. He stretched and jumped, but couldn't reach it. Cursing the loss of his wand, not for the first time, he slumped down on the floor; the uneasy silence that had been reigning in the cell for some time now was beginning to make him nervous. _Just my luck, to get stuck in a confined space with Draco Malfoy, of all people_, he thought bitterly. _And I thought this week was going badly already_. But there was no way around it: stuck he was, and he was going to have to make the best of it. He cleared his throat.

"So, I don't suppose you've thought of a plan for escaping while you've been here?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual and, if not friendly, at least neutral.

Malfoy lifted his head and stared at Harry with something akin to astonished contempt. "What part of chained to the wall didn't you understand, Potter?" he snapped. "I'm not exactly going to be climbing out of any windows. Even if there were any."

"Oh, right," Harry muttered, feeling stupid. After an uncomfortable pause, he frowned. "Why aren't I chained to the wall?" he wondered out loud.

Malfoy gave an weary-sounding sigh. "I don't know. Maybe they know you're an idiot so they're not worried about you finding a way out."

Harry felt his fists clench. "Look," he said shortly, "I don't like this any more than you do, but the fact is, we're stuck in here together. We might as well at least _try_ and be civil to each other."

Malfoy lip curled in another one of his ever-present sneers. "Civil, eh? Did you learn that word from your buck-toothed girlfriend?"

But Harry wasn't listening. He could hear something strange, like tiny voices, just on the edge of his hearing. They seemed to be coming from the breast pocket of his pyjamas.

"Are you listening to me, Potter?" Malfoy demanded in a querulous voice, but Harry held up his hand for silence. They were definitely voices, and they sounded familiar. He reached apprehensively into his breast pocket, then withdrew his hand rapidly. "Ow," he muttered. Something had bitten him, and blood was welling up on the tip of his forefinger. The voices continued, though, as if a television had been left on in the next room. Frowning, and ignoring Malfoy's stare, Harry pulled the lip of his pocket open and peered inside cautiously. A gleam of silver flashed at him from a flat surface. He reached in, carefully avoiding the sharp edges, and withdrew a sliver of silvery glass, from which the voices, louder now, were emanating. It was what was left of the mirror that Lupin had given him the day before.

-----

"It's coming from the mirror," said Ron, staring at the smooth silvery surface with some apprehension. Hermione looked down sharply at her hands – she had forgotten she was holding the mirror, but now, to her astonishment, she saw that although her face was still reflected in it, there was an odd shaped gap in the centre, in which she could see part of a green eye.

"Harry?" she breathed. The eye blinked.

"Hermione!" the tiny voice cried, and although it was very quiet, Hermione could tell that Harry was yelling.

"Harry," she cried. "Harry, where are you?"

The reply was broken, like talking across a long-distance telephone wire. "I...know... cold...and there's..."

"Harry!" Hermione was aware that Ron had come to stand behind her and was staring over her shoulder in astonishment. "We can't hear you very well."

The eye blinked again, and for a moment it disappeared, replaced with a glimpse of ear and a wisp of untidy black hair. Then it was back. Whatever Harry said next was unintelligible, distorted and wracked by bursts of what Hermione would have said was static if it wasn't obviously magical. Only two words stood out clearly. "Malfoy's here."

Ron made a sort of growling noise in his throat, and Hermione was about to tell him to stop being ridiculous, when the strange fragment of Harry in the mirror disappeared without a trace. "Harry," Hermione cried again, and shook the mirror, as if that might somehow help. But only her own face stared back out at her, looked pale and tired. For a moment she felt all the worry and anxiety of the last few weeks well up inside her, and she thought she would burst into tears. Then she took a deep breath. There was no time for histrionics, Harry needed them. Somewhere down below, the bell rang. She looked up at Ron, who was still gaping at the mirror.

"Come to Myrtle's bathroom at break-time," she said quickly. Then she thrust the mirror into her bag, and raced out of the room.

-----

"Hermione! HERMIONE!" Harry heard his voice crack. The fragment of mirror remained silent, reflecting nothing but part of his own face. Hermione was gone.

He leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh, then slid slowly to the ground. His head still felt thick and woolly, and his stomach burned with frustration. Across the room, Malfoy was watching him with narrowed eyes. "What are you looking at?" he snapped, suddenly feeling that this was somehow all Malfoy's fault. What if it was all a trick?

Malfoy didn't drop his gaze. "So I suppose you think that Granger's going to come and save you now," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Since she's so _clever_ and she managed to find a way to talk to you."

"Why don't you just leave Hermione alone?" Harry said, feeling anger beginning to rise in his guts. "She's cleverer than twenty of you."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's lucky for you then, isn't it, Potter? Lucky your girlfriend is around to rescue you."

Harry found that he was on his feet. "She's not my girlfriend!" he shouted, feeling his hands clench into fists by his side.

"Oh yes," Malfoy said airily, inspecting the fingernails of his unchained hand, "I remember. You broke up. Even a buck-toothed mudblood like her prefers that idiot Weasley to the fabulous Harry Potter. What was the problem there?" His face split in a knowing leer. "Not man enough for her?"

Harry took a step forward. "Shut up, Malfoy! We didn't break up! I mean," he backtracked as he saw Malfoy's leer widen, "we were never going out!" He resisted the urge to break open that pale, smiling face.

"Oh really?" Malfoy sneered. "Then why have you been moping around like a wet paper bag all term? It's a wonder your so-called friends put up with you at all, the way you've been acting. Honestly," his smile twitched slightly, and a malicious gleam came into his eyes, "anyone would think your _dog_ had just died."

Something broke inside Harry, and all the rage and horror and frustration and hatred of the last few months came swirling out in thick, dark waves. He felt himself rushing forward, and only one thought was clear through the muddle of emotions in his head.

He was going to kill Draco Malfoy.

-----

The second floor girls' bathroom was even gloomier than Ron had remembered. Somewhere, he could here the echoing sound of Myrtle sobbing. Hermione was sitting in the middle of the tiled floor, a cauldron already bubbling over a blue-flamed magical fire beside her. She looked up as Ron entered, and smiled tightly.

"What's this all about, then?" Ron asked, sitting next to her, feeling somehow comforted to know that Hermione had a plan.

Hermione pulled the comb from her pocket, carefully removed one of Harry's hairs, and dropped it into the cauldron. The mixture inside, which had been a yellowish-green, began to turn black.

"It's simple, really," she said, stirring slowly. "The potion locates the owner of the DN- of the hair. We're not supposed to study it till next year, but I don't know why, it's not that hard."

Ron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Not that hard' for Hermione probably meant years of study for anyone else. "How does it locate them?" he asked.

As an answer, Hermione pulled a rolled-up scroll out of her school bag and spread it out on the floor, holding the corners down with various of her books. It was a map of Britain, the place names marked in spidery writing, with tiny moving sea-monsters attacking ships off the coasts. She took a teaspoon and spooned up a small amount of the potion, then dropped it on the map. As Ron watched, the drop of black liquid rolled into a ball and began to roll around the map, as if searching for something. He glanced at Hermione – she was watching the proceedings with fierce concentration, biting her lip. Looking back at the map, Ron saw that the ball was still rolling, but its movement was more methodical now; it covered every inch of the map, from northernmost Scotland right down to the tip of Cornwall. Then it stopped for an instant, and then sank into the parchment and disappeared, as if it had never been there.

Hermione gave a sigh of disappointment. Ron looked at her. "What does that mean?"

She shook her head. "It didn't work," she said, disconsolately. "They must have blocked it. I thought they probably would, but..."

"Oh." Ron felt hugely disappointed.

They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to Myrtle sobbing somewhere in the plumbing. Then Ron realised that Myrtle wasn't the only one crying. He turned to Hermione in horror, and saw that her face was streaming with tears.

"Oh Ron," she whispered. "What are we going to do?"

"Erm... There, there," said Ron awkwardly, patting Hermione on the back. He tried to think of something consoling to say, but drew a blank. "God, I'm going to kill Malfoy," he muttered, half to himself.

Hermione suddenly sat bolt upright. "That's it! Ron, you're a genius!" She gave him a hug, and he felt her cheek wet against his.

"What?" he asked, confused. "We're going to kill Malfoy?"

"No," Hermione was smiling now. "We're going to _find_ Malfoy. They may have blocked Harry, but they won't have done it for him, because they don't know we know they're in the same place."

Ron felt a smile begin to creep over his own face. "And all we need is something with his deeyenay on it, right?"

Hermione nodded. "That's right."

Ron felt the germ of an idea begin to form. "I'm thinking Harry's Invisibility Cloak might come in handy right about now," he said.

-----

Harry could hear someone yelling – two people, actually – and he was vaguely aware that someone was hitting him ineffectually. He ignored all of that, concentrating on the savage satisfaction he felt when his fists connected with flesh. He saw Sirius' astonished face as he fell backwards through the veil, and Lupin handing him the will, and Hermione and Ron looking scared and worried, and most of all Malfoy's ugly face sneering, always sneering. All of the power within him seemed to be channelling into a single point, and he pushed the point outwards towards that smug expression.

Then he heard someone laugh. It was a horrible laugh, mirthless but full of triumph, and it sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment he stopped, looking behind him to see where the laughter was coming from. And in that moment the yelling became clearer.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, you total bastard, stop fucking hitting me!"

Harry sat back on his heels in astonishment. Malfoy was curled up on the floor, one arm dragged up by the chain around its wrist, the other gesticulating wildly as if trying to fend off blows. Which, Harry realised, was exactly what it had been doing moments before. His blows.

He felt nauseous suddenly and backed away. It wasn't that he had never fought with Malfoy before; on the contrary, physical violence had always seemed to him to be the most healthy expression of their relationship. But he knew, with a sickening certainty, that if he hadn't heard that laugh he wouldn't have stopped. He would have beaten Malfoy unconscious, maybe even killed him. He stared down at his hands, which were sore and bloody. _Is that what I am?_ he wondered, feeling the anger recede, to be replaced with terrified astonishment. _Am I capable of that?_

Malfoy was uncurling and struggling into a sitting position. His green silk pyjama top was ripped at the neck, and face was heavily bruised. Blood flowed freely from his nose and a cut in his cheek. He raised his free hand to his swelling lip and touched it gingerly, wincing slightly, then spat a mouthful of blood on the floor.

"So," he said thickly, his face twisted in an expression of utter hatred and fear that made Harry feel even more sick. "I always knew you were really a coward, Potter. I never believed all this hero stuff."

Harry turned away, not wanting to look at him. It didn't stop the nagging voice in his head, though, the one that he desperately wanted to block out. The one that told him what he didn't want to hear: that not only had he beaten up a handicapped opponent; not only would he have continued to the point of causing permanent damage; but _he had enjoyed it_.

-----

The corridor that led to the dungeons was dank and smelled faintly of mould. Ron shifted position slightly; his feet were going numb with cold. "Where the hell are they all?" he muttered.

"Shh," hissed Hermione, digging him in the ribs with her elbow. "Someone might hear you."

Ron looked up and down the torch-lit corridor through the folds of the Invisibility Cloak. It was deserted as it had been for the last half hour. The only thing that might have heard him was a spider scuttling past on the other side. Ron suppressed a shudder.

"Dinner should have been over by now," he said, and was rewarded with another, more painful elbow in the ribs. He scowled, but then the sound of footsteps echoing on stone made him forget all about being annoyed.

Two Slytherin second year girls were heading towards them. Ron didn't know their names; one was pretty, in a wispy blond kind of way, the other plainer and somewhat annoyed-looking.

"I'm telling you, they're never going to tell us what's going on," the annoyed-looking girl said in a strident voice. "They think they're so clever, just because they're sixth-years."

"Well," the wispy girl said doubtfully, "I'm sure they'd tell us if they thought we needed to know..."

"Hah!" the other girl exploded, and Ron, whose ear had been perilously close to the source, resisted the urge to rub it and look injured. "One of our prefects is missing. I think we have a _right_ to know. Especially if that beastly Harry Potter has anything to do with it. Chimaera," she said as an afterthought, and a section of the stone wall melted away. Ron felt Hermione grab his arm, and they dodged through the opening in the wall before it could close behind the girls, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The Slytherin common room looked much the same as it had when Ron had been in it last, during their second year. It had none of the warmth and welcoming cheer of the Gryffindor equivalent, and even the fire that burned in the stone hearth seemed cold and sickly. Hermione nudged Ron in the ribs yet again, and guided him away from where the strident girl was now holding forth about the evils of Harry Potter, towards a set of steps in the corner of the room. Ron hoped they led to the boys' dormitories and not the girls'; he didn't fancy sliding down a chute right into enemy territory.

As it happened, their luck was in. They climbed the stairs very slowly, so that their footsteps against the gritty stone would not be audible. Below, they heard the sound of other Slytherins arriving in from dinner. Ron felt his heart rate speeding up, and his stomach began to feel sick from nerves; but then they arrived at a door with a sign that read 'Seventh Years' in heavily elaborate Gothic script, and Hermione shot him a grim glance and pushed it open.

Apart from the lack of windows, the room was very similar to Ron's own dormitory. Five four-poster beds were arranged along the back wall – the room was rectangular, unlike the round one in Gryffindor tower. Each bed had green curtains, and a trunk at its foot. They walked along, reading the names; Theodore Nott. Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini – Draco Malfoy. Hermione stopped by the fourth bed and shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak, kneeling beside the trunk and opening it.

"A comb's probably the best bet again," she muttered to herself, then stopped in surprise. "Ron," she said, looking up, "this trunk is full."

"So?" Ron asked in a low voice. "Malfoy's got loads of gear. He's probably got an extra trunk under the bed with all the rest."

"But if he ran away," Hermione started hesitantly, "wouldn't he have taken some of it with him?"

Ron was about to answer, when they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Hermione's eyes widened, and she slammed the trunk shut and jumped up. Ron threw the cloak over both of them.

Just in time. A moment later the door was pushed wide, and Pansy Parkinson entered the room, her odd-looking face full of woe. She walked straight towards Ron and Hermione, and they shuffled desperately out of the way, trying not to make any noise. Pansy walked past them and sank onto Malfoy's bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She sat there, crying silently, for what seemed like forever. Ron hardly dared breathe; he couldn't take his eyes off Pansy, even though watching her weeping seemed somehow like a violation. Under the cloak, Hermione's hand found his and squeezed, hard.

And then, Pansy wiped her eyes with an abrupt and angry gesture and stood up, scrubbing her hands over her face. She shook her head, as if silently contradicting something someone had said, and marched towards the door. As she reached it, she glanced back at Malfoy's bed, and her lower lip trembled slightly; then she turned her head sharply, and was gone.

Ron and Hermione remained still and silent for along moment. Then Ron let out the breath he had been holding. "What on Earth was that all about?" he muttered.

"I don't know," Hermione was already on her knees beside the trunk again, "but I'm not staying here to find out."

"Right," Ron said. "The sooner we get out of here, the better." But he cast a glance at the empty doorway where Pansy had looked back, and felt strange pity twist in his heart.

-----

"Right," Hermione said. "Here goes."

They were back in the bathroom on the second floor. It was dark outside the windows now, and Myrtle was obviously temporarily haunting somewhere else, because they couldn't hear her crying. The little cauldron was full of the same yellowish-green mixture that Ron had seen earlier in the day, and Hermione was plucking a fine blonde hair from her pocket. As she added it, the liquid began to turn pale silver, almost white. Hermione nodded, satisfied, and unrolled the map.

The ball of silver liquid acted the same way as the black one had earlier – it searched the map methodically, from North to South. As it neared Cornwall, Ron began to feel bitter disappointment in the pit of his stomach; it wasn't going to work. Voldemort had outwitted them. But then, when it reached Land's End and stopped, the liquid didn't disappear into the parchment; instead, it rolled back northwards, to an area in the centre of the map that was marked with inky mountains, and settled into a tiny spot that pulsed on and off like a flashing light.

"There!" Ron cried in relief. "We've got you, you slimy git!"

Hermione frowned, looking at the spot. "I'm not sure it's supposed to be flashing like that," she said doubtfully.

"Who cares," Ron said in jubilation. "That's where Harry is, and that's where we've got to go." He stood up decisively, and headed for the door.

"Ron," Hermione called after him, and he heard her get to her feet and start after him. "We can't! We promised Professor Lupin!"

Neither of them looked back as they exited the bathroom arguing, so neither of them saw the flashing silver dot begin to move southwards.

-----

"Wake up! Wake up, Potter, you bastard!"

Harry jerked out of his doze. He had no idea how long he been in the cell; the light hadn't changed at all, but then, whatever the source of it was, it was unlikely to be the sun. Malfoy was glaring at him sullenly from the other side of the room, his face technicoloured and swollen.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling sick again with the reminder of what he had done.

Malfoy gestured towards the blank wall with his free hand. "Food," he said.

Harry looked. A tray with two bowls on it was sitting by the wall, well out of Malfoy's reach. "Who brought it? How did they get in?" he asked, standing and walking over to pick up the tray.

"House Elf," Malfoy said shortly. "The wall must be enchanted." Harry stepped over to him and held out one of the bowls, but he flinched away. Swallowing, Harry put the bowl and spoon down within his reach, and retreated. With a suspicious glance at him, Malfoy picked up the spoon and began to eat as fast as he could, slurping the liquid from the bowl and wincing as the spoon touched his tender lip.

Harry looked at his own bowl. The liquid inside was grey and watery, and he had no idea what it was. He had been hungry a moment before, but the sight of the so-called food put him right off. And, he realised, anything could have been added to it. He put the bowl down with a sigh.

"Aren't you going to eat that?"

Harry looked up to find Malfoy staring at his bowl with a greedy expression on his face. He had already finished his own food.

"How can you eat this stuff?" Harry asked in disgust.

Malfoy transferred his gaze from the bowl to Harry, and scowled, then winced as the expression pulled at his healing cut. "What did you expect? Steak?"

Harry shrugged and picked up the bowl. As he put it down near Malfoy, it occurred to him to wonder how long the other boy had been chained up there, and how many meals he'd had since. Then something caught his eye that chased that thought right out of his head. Eyes widening, he crossed the room in two bounds and picked up the object that lay on the floor beside where the tray had been and stared at it in wonder.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked, looking up from finishing off the second bowl of – whatever.

Harry looked up in astonishment. "It's my wand," he said.


	4. Things Fall Apart

**Slouching Towards Bethlehem**

** Chapter Four: Things Fall Apart**

Lupin sighed and stared out of the window of Dumbledore's office. The gibbous moon shone down from a cloudless sky, bright enough that it seemed he could make out every blade of grass from the castle to the lake – and perhaps he could; he had had sharp eyes ever since he had been bitten. It was beautiful, he thought dully, but it made him feel cold. Shivering, he turned back to the fire and the circle of strained faces, but found no warmth to comfort him there.

"This simply confirms what I said all along," Snape was saying, for what seemed to Lupin to be the thousandth time. "Draco must have been kidnapped."

"Yes, Severus, we've been through this already," McGonagall said, passing a hand across her face in weariness. "But whether Malfoy and Potter were spirited away by the same agency or not, it brings us no closer to finding them."

Lupin felt his mind begin to drift again. They had been arguing back and forth for hours, ever since he had burst into Dumbledore's office in a panic after hearing Ron and Hermione's news. He had somehow hoped that Dumbledore could make it all all right, the way he always did; but the grave look on his face now reminded Lupin painfully that the time when the old wizard had seemed omnipotent to a young outcast boy was long gone. He was responsible for cleaning up his own mess now. And this mess... this mess made him feel nauseous and desperate. _Some guardian you make_, said Sirius' voice in his head. _I would have been better off leaving him in the care of Voldemort and cutting out the middle man_. And he was right, Lupin knew he was right, and the knowledge was a twisting knife in his guts. But this was no time for self-pity; Harry was lost, and it was Lupin's duty to find him. But how on Earth could he do that?

His reverie was interrupted by Dumbledore rising suddenly from the chair where he had been sitting listening. "Someone requires our attention," he said mysteriously, and went to the door of the office. A moment later, he reappeared, shepherding a pair of ferociously babbling children. Ron and Hermione.

"...and then we saw it move and he's in _Derbyshire_ Professor..."

"...and I'm going to break his face when I get my hands on him..."

Dumbledore held his hands up with a gentle smile, and both children fell silent at once. Lupin leaned forward, feeling their excitement begin to infect him.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "I take it you think you have succeeded in locating young Master Potter?"

Hermione nodded, then glanced around the room slightly nervously. "I- We did a Locator Spell-" she started, but Snape cut her off.

"I tried a Locator Spell myself earlier today, Professor," he said, "and I assure you that if Miss Granger believes she has located Mr. Potter in that way then she is performing the spell incorrectly." He shot Hermione a nasty look, and she straightened and drew back her shoulders.

"Not Harry," she said. "_Draco_."

Snape looked like he was about to say something else, but Dumbledore raised a hand to cut him off, and he subsided with an ugly scowl.

"You have located Master Malfoy?" the old wizard asked, as if he were simply curious.

Hermione nodded vigorously, and pulled something out of her pocket. "Here's one of his hairs," she said, handing the invisible thread to Dumbledore.

Snape was on his feet now. "Oh yes, Miss Granger? How _precisely_ did you come by one of Mr. Malfoy's hairs? I can presume you were not in the habit of removing them from his head before he disappeared?"

He was staring at her with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Lupin saw Ron step forward and open his mouth, and decided it was time to forestall the inevitable confrontation.

"Yes, well," he said, rising to his feet with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, "if that's all, I think some of us would be best off going to bed." He gave Ron a hard stare, and the boy flushed slightly and closed his mouth. "That _is_ all, isn't it Ron? Hermione?"

Hermione nodded determinedly. "That's all." She looked up at Dumbledore. "Will you do the spell, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly down at her. "I certainly will, Miss Granger. But for now, Professor Lupin is correct. It is time you children were in bed."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, then turned to leave.

When they had gone, Snape shook his head. "You know I performed a Locator Spell for Draco as soon as we knew he was missing, Albus," he said, sounding aggrieved. "The Granger girl is as arrogant as ever to think that only she would think of such a thing."

Dumbledore stared at the hair he held between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. "He had been blocked, had he not, Severus?" he asked.

Snape nodded. "Granger must have mixed the potion wrong," he said.

"Or the block has been removed," McGonagall put in. "There can be no harm in trying, Albus."

"My thoughts exactly," Dumbledore said. "Severus, if you would be so kind as to prepare the potion?"

Lupin sat back into the chair with a sigh. Outside, the moon shone beautiful and cold as ever; but inside, he was warmed by a ray of hope.

-

Bitter disappointment flooded Lupin's heart as the silvery spot began to flash in Wiltshire.

"As I suspected," Snape said coldly. "He's still blocked. It's only showing Narcissa."

"There's no way that could be Draco?" Lupin asked half-heartedly, though he already knew the answer.

Snape shot him a contemptuous look. "It never ceases to amaze me that you were permitted to become a teacher at this school. Any seventh-year schoolboy knows that a flashing marker appears in the absence of the required person, and indicates the location of their closest family member. In this case, it would have to be Narcissa, since Lucius Malfoy has been blocked ever since he escaped from Azkaban."

Lupin closed his eyes, too tired even to respond to Snape's insults. He shouldn't have allowed himself to hope... and yet, sometimes in the past the knotty problems that had flummoxed both himself and all the adults in the Order had been solved by the clear sight of children. Was it such a stretch to imagine this might be one of those times? _But it wasn't_, he reminded himself. _We're still at square one, and God only knows what's happening to Harry right now_.

-

"What d'you mean, your wand?" Malfoy asked with some suspicion, staring at Harry. "How did it get in here?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, still staring at the slim length of wood in his hand. It hadn't been there when he had inspected the cell for possible escape routes earlier, of that he was sure. But then how could it have got in? And could they get out the same way?

"Come on then, Potter!" Malfoy's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What?" he asked sharply.

The other boy raised an eyebrow and jerked his right hand forward so that the heavy chain connecting it to the wall clanked dully. "Any time in the next five years," he said. "I'm in no rush."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling foolish. He raised the wand and flicked it. "_Alohomora_."

Nothing happened.

Harry frowned, and tried again. louder this time. "_Alohomora_!"

Still nothing.

Malfoy's shoulders slumped slightly, but his face revealed nothing but a slight sneer. "You know, I've often wondered how you managed to get into Hogwarts. Most wizards can tell their wand from any old stick they find lying around."

"It is my wand," said Harry, perplexed. He knew it was; he could feel the familiar power in it thrumming along his arm. He turned to the enchanted wall. "_ALOHOMORA_!" he cried. But the result was no more encouraging than the first two times.

"They must have magically sealed it," Malfoy said, looking at the metal cuff around his right wrist in a disgruntled way.

"No," said Harry. "I would have felt _something_. The spell's just... not working."

Malfoy was silent for a moment, then extended his left hand. "Let me try," he said.

Harry shrugged and handed over the wand. Malfoy inspected it for a moment, then raised it with a slight flick of his wrist. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry felt his stomach lurch, and he threw himself instinctively to the floor; but the jet of green light that exited the wand wasn't aimed at him. Instead, it hit a fly on the other side of the cell; the tiny insect dropped out of the air like a stone.

"Looks like it's working fine to me," Malfoy said with a smug grin.

Harry picked himself up, feeling somewhat sheepish. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked accusingly.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Oh come on, Potter, everyone can do that. Don't tell me you've never tried an Unforgivable Curse?"

Harry remembered the Department of Mysteries and Bellatrix Lestrange's mocking voice. _You have to_ mean _it_. "No," he said, flushing slightly. "They're illegal."

Malfoy snorted with laughter. "Come off it, you moron! If you'd been paying any attention in Dark Arts this term you would already know the Killing Curse. Ivanov practically wrote instructions on the board! And he's right; how are you supposed to defend yourself if you don't even know as many spells as the enemy?"

Harry stared at him in astonishment, which seemed to give Malfoy a fit of the giggles.

"My God, you really are that self-righteous, aren't you, Potter? And I thought it was all an act. But I can't believe your father didn't even-" he stopped, then frowned. "Oh, except your father-"

Harry felt his fists clench at his sides, and he took a step forward. "Don't you say_ anything_ about my father," he ground out.

Malfoy stared at him, and a look of fear flashed across his face. Then it was replaced by a slight smile.

"Now, now, Potter," he said. "I think you've forgotten who's holding the wand."

And he pointed it at Harry's heart.

-

"...didn't tell us anything we didn't already know."

Lupin suddenly became aware that Snape had stopped just outside the door of Dumbledore's office and was glaring at him, as if expecting an answer. He wondered what the question had been; given that it was Snape, though, it shouldn't be to work out.

"They were only trying to help, Severus," he said, feeling bone-weary.

Snape snorted. "Always so quick to the defence," he said, each word like a bullet. "It's lucky for us Dumbledore isn't quite as blind as you, or we might be off on a wild-goose chase looking for Draco now. Those Gryffindor brats have been pulling the wool over your eyes since you met them. All their meddling ever does is cause more trouble. Mind you," he leaned closer to Lupin, his eyes glittering in the torchlight, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've never had very good taste in companions."

Lupin stiffened, Sirius flooding back into his mind. Then he sighed. He didn't want to argue with Snape; he just wanted to get the Wolfsbane Potion and get back to 12, Grimmauld Place, before the meeting started. The other members of the Order were due to arrive any time now, and Lupin was hoping against hope that somehow, one of them would be able to help. "Let's just get the potion, shall we," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Snape's mouth curved upwards slightly at the corners; he had won. "Of course," he said, and swept away down the steps towards the dungeons. Lupin followed with a heavy sigh.

-

Behind them, the corridor was silent and dark. Then Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her head, and stared at Ron in horror.

"They're not going to go," she whispered frantically. "Why aren't they going to help Harry?"

Ron shook his head with an ugly scowl. "It's got to be something to do with Snape. You heard him. Lupin was on our side, but Snape vetoed it. Maybe he's working with Malfoy."

"You _always_ think that, Ron," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh yeah? Well you explain it then. It's like Dumbledore doesn't even want to help Harry!"

Hermione bit her lip and was silent. After a moment, Ron took a deep breath.

"Well, I s'pose it's up to us then," he said grimly.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked with an anxious frown.

"We can't just leave Harry there. We've got to go and rescue him." Ron's mind was made up. He started off down the corridor, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Ron! We can't! We're not powerful enough... And we promised Professor Lupin."

Ron shrugged her off angrily, and turned to glare at her. "You don't have to come if you don't want," he said, "but there's no way I'm leaving Harry to deal with Malfoy on his own." And without another word, he turned and strode off.

Hermione stared after him for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she broke into a run to catch up.

-

Harry stood very still, every nerve screaming, and readied himself to dive out of the way. "The Killing Curse doesn't work on me," he said, very carefully. "That was what did for Voldemort in the first place." He hoped Malfoy was as much in the dark about his abilities to resist the curse a second time as he was.

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, and utter silence fell. Then he gave a laugh that sounded more nervous than amused, and lowered the wand.

"You didn't really think I would do it, did you, Potter?" he asked, making a brave attempt at a sneer. "Right now you're my ticket out of here. _Alohomora_," he said, flicking the tip of the wand towards the cuff on his right wrist.

Nothing happened. Malfoy frowned. "_Alohomora_," he repeated imperiously. The cuff stayed stubbornly closed.

"It's not just me, then," Harry said, stepping forward to take the wand back and trying to ignore the slightly shaky feeling in his legs. But Malfoy lifted the wand again sharply.

"You don't think I'm going to let you have it back, do you?" he asked incredulously.

"What?" Harry was nonplussed. "Why not?"

Malfoy stared at him in astonishment, then raised his fingers to his swollen lip. "You may have everyone else fooled into thinking you're a big hero, Potter," he snarled, "but I know the truth. Let's just say I need some... insurance."

Harry stared at him in horror. "What do you mean? I would never..."

But he didn't finish the sentence, because Malfoy's glare said the same thing as the accusing voice in his head. _But you did! But you did_.

He sat down suddenly, feeling exhausted. "I'm not like that," he said, very quietly. "I'm a Gryffindor."

"Oh, so what? You get a free halo on initiation?" Malfoy shook his head. "Just give it up, Potter. You're not getting the wand back."

Harry would have answered, but he saw Malfoy's pale eyes widen as they saw something behind him, and then there was a sharp pain in the back of his head, and darkness.

-

The sun still hadn't risen when Ron and Hermione left the castle under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak. The night was very cold, and the stars still shone down pitilessly in the Western sky, making Hermione feel very alone. Dewdrops fell glittering from the grass as they passed, and the silent trees of the watchful forest were swathed in mist.

"We've got to get a decent way from the grounds before we catch the bus," she muttered to Ron. "Otherwise the driver will be suspicious."

"Right," Ron agreed. "We can walk down past Hogsmeade to the Muggle village a few miles over. It's probably better to wait till light as well, so it doesn't look too weird."

As they exited the grounds, Hermione glanced back at the lightless bulk of the castle against the sky, and shivered.

-

Harry awoke with a vicious headache, face down on the gritty flagstone floor. He struggled into a sitting position and winced slightly, holding his head.

"What was that all about?" he muttered. There was no answer. "Malfoy?"

But Malfoy was asleep, or unconscious, his chin resting on his chest, still propped up against the wall. Harry watched him for a moment, feeling his stomach begin to growl with hunger and half wishing he hadn't given away the bowl of unidentified liquid. Then he noticed something: Malfoy wasn't holding the wand.

He was on his feet immediately, casting around. Where was it? It didn't take long to locate it: some six feet away from Malfoy by the cell wall. He picked it up in relief, then frowned; how had it got there? Had Malfoy thrown it away? He turned to look at the other boy, and saw grey eyes watching him intently.

"You're awake," Harry said.

"Nothing escapes you, does it, Potter," Malfoy replied bitterly, not taking his eyes off the wand.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged slightly. "Some thugs came in, whacked you on the back of the head and Stunned me," he said shortly. "That's all I know."

Harry walked over to the opposite wall and sank to the floor, rubbing the lump on the back of his head and feeling exhausted. He had been in this cell for what felt like days, but he was no closer to getting out than he had been when he first arrived. Fishing the shard of mirror out of his pyjama pocket, he experimented, calling Hermione's name a few times, but he heard nothing but a crackly sound almost like static. Sighing, he put it away again, and became aware that Malfoy was still watching his every move.

"Oh, stop that," he snapped. "I'm not going to do anything to you."

Malfoy raised one eyebrow slightly, but was silent. Harry began to feel uncomfortable.

"I'm not like..." He stopped. _I'm not like you_. That's what he had been about to say, but somehow it didn't seem like that was going to win Malfoy over. "I'm not like that," he finished lamely.

"You could have fooled me," Malfoy said quietly.

"Well look, if you hadn't provoked me," Harry started vehemently, then stopped as he saw Malfoy flinch slightly. "I'm not like that," he said again.

Malfoy snorted. "I don't know why you feel the need to justify yourself to me, Potter," he said. "We're enemies, remember? I didn't exactly expect hearts and roses."

"Yes, but..." Harry glared at his hands, wondering why exactly he did feel the need to justify himself. "It was dishonourable," he finished, knowing as he said the words how ridiculous they sounded.

Malfoy snorted again. "_Dishonourable_? Oh dear, Potter, you and I have very different ideas of what honour is."

Harry frowned. "You have an idea of what honour is?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Malfoy's face snapped shut. For a moment he just scowled, then he said, "It may come as a surprise to you, but I am human."

Harry was about to answer, but Malfoy was staring at the wand again. "Look, would you just stop it?" he cried.

"Shut up, you moron," Malfoy said, a slow grin spreading across his bruised face. "I think I've just thought of a way to get us out of here."

-

"What didjoo say your names were again?"

Ron looked up and swallowed. Stan Shunpike was looking at the pair of them with some suspicion, where they sat perched nervously on the edge of a massive armchair.

"Emily Masters," said Hermione promptly, and smiled at Stan, then nudged Ron in the ribs.

"Ow," Ron muttered. "Err... Neville Longbottom," he said quickly.

Stan's eyes narrowed. "Really. Seems like there's a lot of that about these days." But the bus screeched to a sudden stop at that point, nearly throwing Hermione onto the floor, and Stan turned, distracted. "'Arrogate, Mister Marigold!" he yelled up the wooden stairs that led to the upper deck. A moment later, a harassed-looking old man struggled down them and almost fell off the bus, which was in motion again immediately. Stan turned back to Hermione and Ron, who tried to look as innocent as possible.

"Should be there soon," he said, seemingly having forgotten his previous line of questioning. "Nice day for it. I 'ear it's lovely down your way, love."

Hermione nodded vigorously; she had told him they were going to visit her parents for the weekend.

"Ain't never bin meself," Stan continued thoughtfully. "Well, 'cept for on the bus o'course."

Ron did his best to look interested and wished Stan would go away. He was feeling more and more nervous. Luckily, at that moment the bus shrieked once more to a halt, and this time Ron _did _fall on the floor.

"There we are," Stan beamed at them. Ron picked himself up and clambered off the bus as quickly as possible, followed closely by Hermione. Stan grinned at them from inside. "Now don't you let them give you too much of an earful," he said winking at Hermione, "only I know what it's like the first time your boyfriend comes to visit an' all."

Ron felt himself flush. "No-" he started, but the bus was already gone, leaving them blinking in the bright sunlight. He sighed and looked around. They were standing by the side of a single-track road, in what looked an awful lot like the middle of nowhere. On either side of the road, stone walls bordered fields of heathy grass and dead bracken, which rose steeply towards the cloudless sky. "Where _are_ we?"

Hermione was inspecting the map; they had retrieved it from the second-floor bathroom late the previous evening, but the silver mark had already disappeared. Hermione had marked its location, as far as she remembered it, with a quill.

She looked up and down the road for a moment, hesitated, then pointed to where it curved and plunged sharply downwards. "That way," she said in a businesslike tone, and started off, not turning to see if Ron was following her.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Ron muttered.

-

"No, look, like _this_."

Malfoy waved his hand carefully, with a complicated flick of the wrist. Harry tried to repeat the action; he could see from Malfoy's face that he had not succeeded.

"Why don't you just let me have the wand?" Malfoy said petulantly, for what had to be the twentieth time. "All right, all right," he added grumpily, as Harry scowled at him. "God knows how you ever passed your OWLs," he added in an undertone, that nevertheless carried easily to Harry's ears.

Harry felt his scowl deepen. "We didn't have to do Dark Magic for our OWLs, in case you hadn't noticed," he said. "Not that I would have put it past you to curse the examiners so they would give you better marks."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Whatever, Potter. I'm not the one who can't master a simple spell."

Harry sighed and flicked his wrist again. "_Imperio_," he said wearily, then looked up. "How was that?"

Malfoy opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking annoyed. "It was fine," he said.

"Really?" Harry looked at his wrist in surprise, and tried the movement again.

"All right," Malfoy said. "Now we need something for you to practice on." He looked around. "There must be some insect or something around here."

Harry joined the search; but after half an hour of examining every inch of the cell, floor, walls, and ceiling as far as he could see it, he had to admit that there was nothing. He slumped down in defeat. "I'll just have to hope I get it right first time."

"Don't be an idiot. This is our only chance." Malfoy looked like he was considering something, then straightened his shoulders. "Do it on me."

"What?" Harry stared at him, then shook his head. "It's illegal!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That freak Moody did it on Goyle in the fourth year, and he never got into any trouble. I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance. Oh, but I forgot." His nose wrinkled in a sneer. "You're a _Gryffindor_. Never mind that you break school rules at every sodding opportunity and _always_ get away with it, you won't curse your worst enemy to save both your lives because it's _illegal_. Grow a bloody spine, Potter."

Stung, Harry grabbed the wand where it lay on the floor in front of him. "_Imperio_!" he cried, flicking his wrist the way Malfoy had shown him. Nothing happened.

"Is that the best you can do?" Malfoy's sneer was growing wider now, and the dried blood under his nose cracked and flaked. "Well, it's no surprise, really, considering your background. I mean, you're practically a mudblood!"

Harry scowled. "_Imperio_!" he said again, feeling like he would rather be pummeling Malfoy's face again than trying to curse him.

Malfoy shook his head. "You have to _mean_ it, Potter..." he started, but he never got the chance to finish. Bellatrix's screeching laughter echoing in his head, Harry felt rage overwhelm him.

"_IMPERIO_!" he yelled, and a jet of green light hit Malfoy squarely in the stomach. Immediately, he stopped speaking, and his mouth hung slightly open, his eyes vacant. Harry felt power humming through him, connecting him to Malfoy. He could make him do anything he wanted. It was thrilling, intoxicating – and it terrified Harry.

For a moment, he stood, trying to cope with the flood of feelings the Curse had awoken inside him. He felt as though someone had stepped inside his body, someone cruel and ambitious, someone who laughed with glee at the sight of Malfoy, helpless and submissive before him. Fear raced across his skin; who was it who had possessed him? How could he fight it? He watched, as if from a distance, as his own hand rose, and he heard himself say, "Stand up."

Malfoy stood dreamily. The empty look on his face made Harry feel sick. "Come here," he heard himself say.

Malfoy stepped forward, but after two steps he reached the extent of his chain. He kept trying, though, pulling on the chain until his pale wrist was rubbed raw. It wasn't until the first drop of blood oozed from beneath the manacle that Harry suddenly snapped back into himself.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" he cried. Malfoy stopped abruptly, then stepped back so that the chain was no longer dragging against him. He frowned, rubbing his wrist.

"It worked, then?"

Harry felt his knees go weak, and sat down sharply. "Yeah," he said, hoping Malfoy didn't hear the slight tremble in his voice.

"Good." Malfoy was looking at him suspiciously. "Now we just have to wait."

"Right." Harry nodded vaguely. _Waiting I can do. Waiting I'm good at_. But as silence settled over the room, he couldn't stop his mind from returning to the feeling of triumph he had had when he cursed Malfoy; and as he pondered it, he began to have the disquieting thought that perhaps he had not been possessed at all.

-

Ron stopped walking. Hermione continued for several yards until she realised he was no longer following her, then turned, an impatient look on her face.

"Come _on_, Ron," she said, "or we'll _never_ get there."

"Never get where, exactly?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows. "We've been walking for hours!"

"Oh, look, it's only..." Hermione consulted her watch, then bit her lip. "Four o'clock," she finished in a small voice.

"Exactly." It had been around noon by Ron's reckoning when the Knight Bus had dropped them off. "And I'm beginning to think you don't know where we're going."

"I do!" Hermione looked hurt. "According to the map, it should be right around the next bend." She pointed just ahead, to where the road ran down into a deep cleft between two towering hills.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Ron muttered, but he followed Hermione as she started off down into the cleft. The narrow gap, walled by sheer grassy slopes, was eerily quiet. The only sound was the wind rustling the grasses and, somewhere far away, the lonely sound of a sheep bleating. It sounded as disconsolate as Ron felt.

Then they came out of the ravine and skirted around the bottom of the left hand rise, and there, before them, was a little village of stone houses with grey slate roofs, huddled closely together between the glowering hills.

"There," Hermione said triumphantly. "What did I tell you? Malfoy must be here somewhere." She started down the road eagerly, but Ron caught her arm.

"I don't think so," he said.

Hermione frowned at him. "Oh, _honestly_, Ron, what is it now? Where else would he be?"

Ron raised his hand and pointed at a spot half-way up the slope on the right-hand side of the village. The remains of a castle stood there, looking as ancient as the landscape itself, and ruined as though parts of it had somehow melted into the hillside. "There," he said.

-

Hetty the House Elf paused by a section of wall in the dank, underground corridor, and laid her hand against it. Closing her eyes, she whispered a spell under her breath. Immediately, a wavering picture of a small room appeared in her mind; the boys were both there, the blonde one in the corner with his head drooping onto his chest, the dark-haired one lying some distance from him on the floor. Both were asleep. Hetty removed her hand, rebalanced the tray she was holding in the other, and tapped four times on the fifteenth brick from the nearest sconce. A narrow gap appeared in the wall, and she stepped through it, keeping a careful eye on the tray so that the gruel in the bowls didn't spill. A noise from within made her look up; the dark-haired boy was sitting up and staring at her with bright green eyes.

"_Imperio_," he said.

-

"OK," Ron said, flopping down to sit on a rock in the middle of the ruined castle's courtyard. "What now?"

Hermione looked around. They had searched every inch of the castle grounds (which hadn't taken long; it was fairly small, as castles went), but found no sign of hidden entrances, or of Harry. The afternoon was drawing on, the light taking on a thick, rich quality as it spilled across the hilltops. The castle was already in shade, though it was still two hours until sunset.

"All right," Hermione said, thinking fast. "We'll just have to look again."

Ron sighed in frustration. "We've already looked _everywhere_," he said. "What if this is the wrong place?"

Hermione frowned; it was unpleasant to hear Ron voice the creeping doubt in her own heart. But doubt would get them nowhere; it certainly wouldn't help them find Harry. "No," she said, decisively. "You were right the first time, Ron. This must be the place."

"Fine," Ron muttered, rising to his feet. As if as an afterthought, he gave the rock he had been sitting on a good, hard kick. "Ow!" he yelled, hopping up and down in a way that Hermione would have found comical if it wasn't so annoying. Then he stopped hopping, and stared. "Hermione," he said quietly, "get over here, would you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and strode quickly over to Ron's side. There, under the rock, a narrow, dark gap had appeared, revealing what were unmistakeably steps, leading down into dimness.

"Ron, you're a genius," Hermione whispered. Ron just grinned and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his satchel. Pulling it over themselves, they took a collective deep breath, and stepped into the darkness.

-

"Remus. Oy, Remus!"

Lupin awoke with a start, to find Tonks grinning at him from under a bright green fringe. "Thought you were going to sleep forever," she said.

Lupin sat bolt upright. He was in the kitchen of 12, Grimmauld Place, and it was growing dark outside. "What time is it?" he asked, fearfully. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Thought I just did," Tonks said cheerfully, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was sitting on the other side of the table, reached over and put a hand on Lupin's arm. "It's nearly seven, still more than an hour till moonrise, and I wouldn't have woken you up now if we hadn't had some news. You need to sleep."

"News?" Lupin asked, feeling his heart rate speed up. "What kind of news? Have they found Harry?"

Shacklebolt shook his head, looking serious. "I'm afraid not. Ron and Hermione have gone missing."

Lupin felt his mouth go dry. "Oh God," he whispered. "Not them too."

"No, not them too," Shacklebolt said. "As far as we can tell, they left of their own accord. Some of their belongings are gone."

Lupin frowned. "Why would they...? Oh." He remembered Hermione's anxious face in Dumbledore's office. _Will you do the spell, Professor?_ "They've gone after Harry." He shook his head anxiously. "But the spell was wrong, it showed Narcissa, not Draco."

Tonks nodded; all the members of the Order had heard the entire tale of the previous night several times from start to finish, as with all the other circumstances of Harry and Draco's disappearances; but although they had worked all night and well into the morning, they had not been able to think of a solution. "Well, I'll go and fetch them. Better not leave them to Narcissa's tender mercies, eh? Where did you say she lived again?"

"Wiltshire," Lupin said, but frowned as another memory rose in his mind. "But Hermione said something about Derbyshire. What if they've gone there?" He struggled to his feet, forcing his weary limbs to bear him. _Damn the moon!_ He thought, not for the first time in his life, or even that week._ I should be out there finding those children, and instead I'm going to spend the night locked in the cellar. Sirius, old friend, you should have chosen someone else to be Harry's guardian. How can I protect him when I'm so weak?_

Shacklebolt and Tonks exchanged glances. "Did she say where in Derbyshire?" Shacklebolt asked.

Lupin shook his head. "To be honest, I couldn't even swear that that was what she said. There was a lot of shouting." He attempted an apologetic smile.

"Right," Tonks said, all business. "Well, Hermione's not the only one who can do a Locator spell. I used to be a pretty dab hand at them myself. I'll go and see if Molly can rustle up something of Ron's, and it'll all be sorted in no time." She stood to leave, but turned back and laid a hand on Lupin's shoulder. "Don't worry, Remus," she said. "We'll sort it."

Lupin gave her a weak smile, and hoped that he looked more convinced than he felt. Then he turned, with a heavy sigh, and made his way towards the door to the cellar.

-

"Potter! Where are you _going_?"

Harry looked back at Malfoy's pale form, pressed against the dank wall in the corridor behind him. "Well, we've got to go somewhere," he hissed. "Why not this way?"

"What's wrong with the other way?" Malfoy asked querulously, the torchlight gleaming dimly from his green silk pyjamas.

Harry sighed in frustration. "Look, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "We're never going to get anywhere if you keep questioning every decision I make."

"Oh, right, because you're the leader of this little gang. Sorry, I forgot for a moment there that I was dealing with the fearless Harry Potter, Noted User of Underage Magic and Utter Git," Malfoy sneered. "If you hadn't left the bloody House Elf behind we wouldn't be lost in the first place."

"It was safer this way; I don't know how well the Imperius Curse works on non-humans," Harry muttered. In truth, that wasn't the reason at all; although the power he had felt when he had cursed the House Elf had been weaker and subtly different from the time before, he was still too scared of what he might do to bring her along with them. But he wasn't about to tell Malfoy that.

"Looked like it worked just fine to me," Malfoy pointed out, interrupting his train of thought. "You sure you're not secretly a Dark Wizard, Potter?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "Just shut up and follow me," he ground out, and set off towards the other end of the mouldy-looking passageway without a backwards look. _If he doesn't follow me, the good bloody riddance_, he thought. But after a moment, he heard Malfoy's footsteps behind him

-

"Ron! Where are you _going_?"

Ron felt Hermione elbow him in the ribs. "Ow," he muttered. "What was that for?"

"You were about to walk into a wall," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh, right," Ron said, peering through the cloak at the slick black stone in front of his nose. "Well, it's not my fault your bloody hair keeps getting in my face. Can't you tie it back or something?"

Hermione rolled her eyes – or at least, Ron assumed she was rolling them, that was what she usually did in these situations, but she was standing so close to him under the cloak that he couldn't really see her face. "This way," she hissed, and steered him down a corridor branching off to the right.

"How do you know?" Ron asked, rubbing his bruised ribs.

"The air smells worse down here," Hermione said. She peered out at the increasingly slimy-looking stone walls, and gave a satisfied nod.

"Right, so we're looking for Malfoy, and you reckon he'll be with the scum where he belongs," Ron said, trying to keep up.

Hermione gave a sigh. "No, we're looking for Harry, and they're probably keeping him in some sort of dungeon, which is likely to be in one of the less pleasant sections of the catacombs."

"Right," Ron agreed, wondering what _catacombs_ meant. "Looking for Harry. Right."

But it wasn't Harry they found. It was Malfoy.

-

The corridor came to a sudden t-junction. Harry stopped, uncertain.

"Which way now, oh fearless leader?"

"Don't call me that," muttered Harry. He heard Malfoy sigh extravagantly, then the other boy pushed past him.

"This one will do," he said, turning left confidently.

"Malfoy, don't-" Harry started, but he never got the chance to finish. From the left branch of the corridor he heard a piercing yell, and then Malfoy shriek. The corridor exploded into a cacophony of sound. His heart thudding in his chest, he flattened himself against the wall. _Caught_.

Then he began to differentiate words in the yelling. They went like this:

"Malfoy, you evil bastard, what have you done to Harry? I swear, I'm going to rip out your liver!"

And a second voice: "Ron! Get off him, you're going to get us caught!"

And finally: "Potter! Call off your sodding lapdog!"

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry cried in astonished relief, and raced round the corner to find Ron sitting on Malfoy's chest and punching him repeatedly in the face. Malfoy was trying to fend off the blows and whimpering. "Ron!" said Harry again, in alarm this time. Ron glanced up.

"Harry, can't you see I'm-" He stopped, and did a double-take. "Harry!"

A moment later, Harry found himself enveloped in a double hug. The third person in the embrace was invisible, but Harry could tell from the sobbing in his ear that it was Hermione. He felt close to tears himself.

Malfoy picked himself up off the floor. His nose was bleeding again, and there was thick, sludgy dirt in his blond hair. "You're dead, Weasley," he growled.

Ron shot him an ugly look, but Harry disengaged himself from the embrace and scowled. "You don't know when to shut up, do you Malfoy?"

"What's he doing here?" Ron said crossly. "Isn't he supposed to be on the other side?"

"I am on the other side," Malfoy said. "At least, I will be when we get out of here."

Ron turned to stare at Harry. Harry shrugged. "Looks like Voldemort's not behind this one," he said. "They kidnapped Malfoy too. I'll tell you the whole story later; in the meantime, let's just get out of here."

"Right," said Hermione's voice a short distance from his left shoulder, startling him. A moment later, he found himself enveloped in the Invisibility Cloak, along with Ron. Malfoy was frowning, looking around.

"Where'd everyone go?" he asked, plaintively.

"Get under here, Malfoy," Harry hissed, and reached out an arm to drag him under.

"It's not big enough," said Hermione in his ear, sounding worried.

Harry frowned; she was right, it wasn't. It was barely big enough to cover the three of them these days, since Ron had grown so tall.

"Right. Malfoy?" he hissed again. Malfoy turned in his direction, still looking confused. "Follow us, and try and stay out of sight."

The three of them started off, but a moment later they heard Malfoy's voice behind them.

"Brilliant plan. How am I supposed to follow you exactly?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Hermione," he whispered, "grab Malfoy's elbow and guide him."

Hermione nodded, tickling his ear with the movement of her thick hair.

"Right, we ready?" Harry asked. Then was a general murmur of assent. "Then let's go."

Moving around with three people under a single Invisibility Cloak had never been an easy task, even when he, Ron and Hermione had been eleven. Three almost full-grown people, one of whom was trying to guide a fourth, was almost impossible. Their progress was so slow that Harry felt his fingernails digging into his palms in frustration. To make matters worse, no matter how carefully they tried to walk across the bare stone floors, their footsteps seemed to echo as if they were in a church. _There is absolutely no way we're going to get out of here alive_, Harry thought to himself. The thought of seeing Sirius again gave him some kind of bleak comfort, but he tried not to even imagine what would happen to Ron and Hermione if they were caught.

Finally, Hermione whispered in his ear that she thought they were nearly there. For Harry, the knowledge that escape was so close actually made the tension worse, and it was almost a relief when he heard footsteps coming their way.

"Someone's coming!" Hermione said in a panicked whisper, and immediately dragged Harry over to the wall. Harry grabbed hold of Ron, managing to pull him with them, but Malfoy was left in the middle of the corridor, staring around wildly as the footsteps came closer. Just in time, he ducked behind a rusty-looking suit of armour as a figure swathed in black stepped around the corner.

It was only a temporary respite, though: the man was striding towards them, and once he passed the suit of armour, he could hardly fail to notice Malfoy, cowering there in his incongruous silk pyjamas with mud in his hair. Harry was thinking fast, but he couldn't think of any way out of the situation. He tightened his grip on his wand, and wondered if he had the strength of mind to use an Unforgivable Curse to save his one-time worst enemy's life.

In the event, though, he didn't find out: the man stopped just on the other side of the statue and opened a great oak door that stood there. He grunted slightly with the effort: the door was old and warped, and it dragged against the stone floor. Stepping through, he disappeared from sight, leaving the door standing ajar. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and was just about to suggest they got out of there as quickly as possible, when he heard a voice that rooted him to the spot.

"The boy still lives?"

It was Voldemort.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy again, but the other boy seemed to show no interest in moving. He wore a slightly stunned look; Harry wondered if he recognised Voldemort's voice; he wondered if he had heard it before.

"He did when last I checked, Lord."

There was an angry hiss, and Harry flinched. _They're talking about me_, he realised. But why would he be dead?

Voldemort's voice continued, the sinuous intonations making Harry's skin crawl. "I was led to believe that the hatred between your son and Harry Potter was powerful. Why does he still live?"

They heard another voice now, one that Harry had definitely no expected. "My Lord, if you recall it was not I who suggested using my son for this task." The oily tones were unmistakeable: Lucius Malfoy.

Harry stared through the cloak at Malfoy, whose eyes were nearly popping out of his head. They had wanted Malfoy to kill him. But why, then, had they chained him to the wall? And was he in on all this? Had he just been acting a part all along? The look of total disbelief on the other boy's face decided Harry: no-one was that good an actor.

"Nevertheless, Lucius. He is your flesh and blood. I would have expected more from you."

There was a short silence, during which Malfoy looked as though he was about to choke. Then Lucius' voice came again.

"My Lord, you have taken-" There was an angry hiss, and Lucius paused, and then smoothly changed tack. "I have given you my son. I fail to understand why I must remain here to watch him die."

Harry tried to make sense of that. Watch Malfoy die? But...

"Your son will be a martyr. His sacrifice will make it possible for all my plans to come to fruition. Why would you turn your face from such a glorious end?" There was a note of cruelty in Voldemort's voice, and an undertone of amusement.

"Yes, I understand that, but he is my _son_." Lucius' voice rose slightly.

"Sometimes, my dear Lucius, I begin to doubt your commitment to the cause," said Voldemort, and although his voice was very quiet, every word fell echoing like a trumpet blast.

There was a painful silence. Then Lucius spoke again, and Harry heard the reluctance beneath his once-more unruffled tones. "Forgive me, my Lord. I have failed to thank you for giving my son this chance for glory. You are too kind."

Footsteps approached, and someone pulled the door to. Harry leaned heavily against the wall, trying to understand what he had just heard. Across from him, Malfoy sank slowly to the floor with a look of utter horror.

-

"Malfoy, we've got to go." Harry's pitched his voice low, but urgent. He was crouched in front of where Malfoy sat slumped on the damp stone floor; he didn't even seem to notice Harry, though Harry had slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Malfoy, come _on_." Harry felt the tension within him rise to an almost unbearable pitch. He had a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh; he fought it back stubbornly.

"We've got to get out of here," he hissed.

Malfoy looked up at him. "But my father," he whispered. "My father..."

"I know," Harry said, trying to sound kind. "But we haven't got time to think about it now."

Malfoy shook his head. "I've got to talk to him," he muttered, scrambling to his feet. To Harry's horror, he headed straight for the rotten old door fro behind which they had heard Voldemort's voice.

"Malfoy, for God's sake!" he cried, and grabbed Malfoy's elbow.

Malfoy looked down at his hand, and then met his gaze; his face twisted with hatred. "Get your filthy hands off me, Potter," he spat.

"Look, you fucking moron, you're going to get us all killed!" It was Ron's voice, though he himself was not visible. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but a moment later Hermione appeared from under the cloak and stepped forward, with an anxious glance at Harry.

"Draco," she said gently. "Your father betrayed you. If you go and find him, he'll kill you. I know it's difficult to understand, but you have to trust me."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and for a horrible moment Harry thought he was going to hit Hermione. Then his face went slack.

"All right," he whispered. "All right, let's go."

Hermione smiled at him nervously and took his elbow, guiding him carefully away from the door. Harry found himself suddenly enveloped in the Invisibility Cloak again, and he and Ron followed. They turned left, then right, then right again – Harry had no idea how Hermione was able to remember the directions – and suddenly they reached the foot of a flight of worn stone steps. They were too narrow to go two abreast, and so Malfoy went first, with Hermione behind him pushing him gently upwards, then Harry, then Ron, the Invisibility Cloak now stowed in his satchel. At every step, Harry was sure that they would be caught – but then he squeezed out of a narrow gap between two stones, and found himself in a long-abandoned courtyard, the broken edges of the flagstones casting sharp shadows in the moonlight. It was the first time he had breathed the fresh air since he had woken up in the cell, and although it was cold enough to make him shiver in his pyjamas, he was glad of it.

"We're out," Hermione said in some relief.

"Right," Ron agreed. "Run!"

And they ran, Hermione dragging Malfoy by the hand, across the ruined courtyard and out of a yawning gateway; down a slippery grassy slope and onto a narrow road that led downwards to a collection of twinkling lights. Hermione paused, looking in both directions; above them, the moon was ringed with a pale halo. Harry stopped, panting, his breath smoking in the freezing air; his feet were sore and going numb. "Which way?" he asked.

"We'll catch the bus," Ron said, pointing up the road, but Hermione shook her head.

"They'll know," she said. "They'll catch us before we even get on. This way." And she pointed towards the hillside that loomed over them, a darker shadow against the starry sky.

They couldn't run up the hill; it was so steep that they practically climbed on all fours. The grass was wet with evening dew, and slippery enough that Harry often found himself grabbing onto tufts to stop himself falling, and scrabbling with freezing fingers against the hard earth. A dizzying sense of vertigo assaulted him as he looked up at the summit towering above them; but he had to keep moving, or he knew he would be dead.

When he looked back later, Harry remembered little of that night's nightmarish climb. He gradually lost all sense of time and place, of the others climbing beside him; there was only the next painful step, which could so easily end in failure. There was nothing but touch to guide him: no sight but darkness, no smell but the brittle air, no sounds but his own heart thumping in his ears. After a while, he forgot why he was climbing at all; he knew only that he mustn't stop.

And then, they reached the summit, and there was a slithering scramble down the other side to a wet, squelching bog, and then another climb, with nothing to differentiate it from the first until they were half-way up, and they heard a shriek of rage that froze the blood in Harry's veins.

"He knows you're gone," Hermione said. "Keep climbing."

And when they reached the top of the second hill, the frozen light of the moon and stars was joined by another, that flickered red and orange above the hilltops: the village was burning, in a towering pillar of flame. But to Harry it seemed that the whole sky was burning, that the air was nothing but flames and acrid smoke. "It's the end of the world," he whispered in wonder.

"Wrong again, I'm afraid, Potter." Harry turned in surprise to see Malfoy staring at the flames, his pale face like a stone carving in the moonlight. "This is only the beginning," he said.

* * *

**End of Part One**


	5. Mere Anarchy

**Slouching Towards Bethlehem**

**Part Two: The Ceremony of Innocence is Drowned**

**Chapter Five: Mere Anarchy **

Harry's pyjamas were soaking wet to the knees from the bog they had struggled through, his feet were numb, his knees scraped raw, and the tips of his fingers were bleeding from the sharp, shaley soil. His head was beginning to spin as well, and he felt nauseous from lack of food. But in the end, it was Malfoy who collapsed, silently dropping as they were halfway down the next slope, tumbling over and over to the bottom, where he lay still. Harry could no longer even find the energy to be surprised; he stopped and stared for a moment, then continued to pick his way carefully downwards, concentrating on putting one foot in front of – or below – the other, trying to see where he was going, though the bright moonlight threw sharp, treacherous shadows.

When he reached the bottom, Hermione was kneeling by Malfoy's crumpled form. He heard Ron say something, his tone sharp, but he couldn't make sense of the words. He didn't know how long they had been going, but the sky above the hill behind them still glowed a warm red that made him think of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, a welcome antidote to the hard light of the moon. He felt his legs tremble beneath him, and sank to the soaking ground. Hermione was in front of him, she said something to him and he answered, and then there was Tonks' face and he wondered vaguely what she was doing there. And that was all.

* * *

It was the pain in his feet that woke Harry up. He didn't want to wake, he fought it for some time, but the pain was insistent, dragging him away from the warmth and darkness over and over again. Finally, defeated, he opened his eyes.

He was in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express; this was the first thing that made him think he was dreaming. The second thing was that Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were there. The third was that Draco Malfoy was sleeping in the opposite corner under a thick blanket; and then Harry remembered why that was not so strange, after all.

"Harry!" Hermione, of course, the first to notice he was awake. The others looked up, and smiled in a concerned sort of way. "Are you all right?"

"My feet hurt," said Harry, sitting up. He, too, was under a blanket, and he noticed his pyjamas had disappeared, replaced by warm robes. He was still hungry, though.

Tonks gave him a cheerful grin. "I did a Warming Spell before you could get frostbite," she said.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, we didn't even think about how cold your feet must be." Hermione bit her lip and looked like she was about to cry.

"But you're all right otherwise?" Ron was sitting next to him, patting him awkwardly on the arm. "They didn't... do anything to you?"

Harry felt clarity slowly spreading through his brain. "Apart from keep me locked up with Malfoy for... however long, no, they didn't do anything. I suppose we know why, now." He glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eyes, but the other boy was still asleep. "Where are we going?"

"Back to Hogwarts," Shacklebolt said, his deep voice unaccountably comforting. "We persuaded the Express to run a special delivery, since neither of you were in a fit state to fly."

Harry was silent for a moment, trying to take it all in. Then he thought of something. "How did you find us?"

"We did a Locator Spell for Ron," Tonks said with a grin. "It took a little while to get something of his from Mrs. Weasley, especially considering how easily hair gets mixed up in that family, but we managed it in the end."

"Oh." Harry was silent again, and became aware that they were all watching him. "How did _you_ find us?" he asked, turning to Ron and Hermione.

"We did a Locator Spell too," Hermione said. "On Malfoy. Although," she glanced at Tonks and Shacklebolt, and frowned slightly, "it didn't work."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione's frown deepened, "it showed us where Malfoy was, or so we thought, but it turns out it must have been Narcissa. I _knew_ I remembered something about a flashing dot," she added, half to herself.

"If it was Narcissa," Harry said slowly, wondering if he was missing something, "then how did you find us?"

Hermione looked at the two adults again. Shacklebolt shrugged. "Assuming Hermione mixed the potion correctly," (Hermione looked slightly hurt, but said nothing) "it was pure luck that Narcissa happened to be where you two were, and that these two did the potion at the time they did. It was lucky, too, that they went haring off after you without checking what a flashing dot meant. It was also," he turned and gave Ron and Hermione a hard glare, "an extremely dangerous and misguided thing to do."

Hermione turned pink. Ron looked away, and muttered something that might have been "Worked, didn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it makes sense," Harry said, thinking that not very much seemed to be making sense at the moment. "If Lucius was there..." He looked at Malfoy again, but if anything, the boy seemed even more deeply asleep than before. Harry felt a wave of tiredness roll over himself, as well. The pain in his feet was still irritating, and he had a lot he needed to discuss. He laid his head against the window for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to think of all the questions that needed answering.

* * *

When he next awoke, Ron was shaking him by the shoulder. 

"Come on, mate, rise and shine. We're there."

Harry struggled upright, disentangling himself from the folds of his blanket. He felt grimy and sweaty, but warm. His feet didn't hurt any more, either. All in all it was a big improvement.

Across from him, Malfoy was pressed back into the corner, looking nervous. "Who are you?" he asked Tonks, who was standing over him, obviously having just woken him up.

Tonks flashed him a grin. "I'm your cousin. Nice to finally meet you."

Malfoy stared at her as if she was mad. Then he looked over at Harry. "What's going on, Potter?"

"We're back," Harry said, feeling rather pleased at having the upper hand for once. "At Hogwarts," he added, after quickly checking through the window that they had, in fact, arrived at Hogsmeade station. "Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt helped rescue us," he added, when Malfoy continued to stare at him in confusion.

Malfoy frowned, then looked back up at Tonks. "What do you mean, you're my _cousin_?"

Harry grinned and slipped out of the carriage. Behind him, he heard Tonks saying, "Well, you see, Draco, when two people love each other very much..." and his grin widened.

Ron and Hermione were already down on the platform. "Oh good, you're here," Hermione said. "How do you feel?"

Harry considered. "OK," he said, "all things considered. What time is it?"

"Breakfast time," Ron said, looking pleased. "I'm starved!"

Harry couldn't agree more. He was so hungry that the thought of food made him feel somewhat nauseous. "How are we going to get to the castle?" he asked.

"They've sent us a couple of carriages," Ron said, pointing. Then he frowned. "Quick, let's get going before we wind up in the same carriage as Malfoy."

"I wouldn't fret, Weasley." Harry turned, to see Malfoy standing on the top step of the train carriage, his lip curled in a contemptuous sneer, the effect of which was somewhat diminished by his swollen, black-and-blue face. "I wouldn't travel within ten feet of you for all the Galleons in Gringotts. I couldn't stand the smell." And he pushed past them towards one of the waiting carriages.

"Look who's talking," Ron yelled after him. "Been taking haircare lessons from Snape? Honestly," he continued, turning back to Harry and Hermione and speaking at normal volume, "look at him, flouncing around like he owns the place. That's the last time I bother saving anyone's life. Oh, erm, except for you, Harry."

Harry sighed; he really wasn't in the mood. "Let's just get up to the castle, shall we?"

The ride was quiet; Harry stared out of the carriage window as the grounds rolled past. He had a lot of questions, but he didn't feel like talking right then, and even Ron seemed to sense his mood and stayed quiet. Finally, they alighted on the steps of Hogwarts, where Tonks, Shacklebolt and Malfoy were already standing. They seemed to be having an argument.

"Don't tell me what to do," Malfoy snapped as they approached. "I'll go to the hospital wing when I've had something to eat."

Tonks raised one eyebrow. "You really want your friends to see you looking like that?" she asked, pleasantly.

Malfoy bristled. "I don't give a flying fuck what you think, mudblood," he snarled, and stomped into the castle.

Tonks threw up her hands in mock horror. "Lawks-a-mercy! My blood's been insulted! I'm so terribly wounded," she cried, hurrying after Malfoy.

"What's all that about?" Harry asked, frowning after them.

Shacklebolt sighed. "Dumbledore thought it would be best if you came back quietly and didn't make too much of a scene. No use drawing attention to yourselves. I suppose that's out of the question now, though."

And it was. By the time Harry and the others made it to the Great Hall, Malfoy was already inside, surrounded by Slytherins. A shout went up from the Gryffindor table when they spotted Harry. A moment later, Dean Thomas was pumping his hand enthusiastically and Lavender and Parvati were hugging him like it was going out of fashion. Harry felt powerless and overwhelmed in the middle of the whirl of activity; all he wanted to do was grab some food and go and clean himself up. He began to back out of the press of flesh, and bumped into someone else; he turned to see who it was, and found himself face to face with Malfoy. They stared at each other with deep dislike.

"Hero's welcome, I see, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Must be getting a little bored of that by now."

Harry noticed with surprise that, although the Slytherins had all left their table to come and greet Malfoy, they were keeping their distance; one or two were even looking slightly worried. "Well, at least I've got friends who aren't afraid to come near me," he replied.

Malfoy scowled, but before he could answer there was a shriek from the doorway that led down to the dungeons, and they both turned in surprise. Pansy Parkinson was hurrying towards them, pushing her way through the crowd of Slytherins.

"Oh Draco," she cried in a sobbing voice. "Thank God!" she hugged Malfoy tightly, and then stepped back, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't want to, you've got to believe me," she said in a low voice, grabbing Malfoy's hands desperately. "But my father and the others... They said it was for a greater good."

Malfoy stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

Pansy's hands flew to her mouth and she took a pace back, looking horrified. "Nothing," she said, quickly. "I'm so glad to see you!" But she didn't look glad. She looked frightened.

For a moment, Malfoy simply stared at her, frowning. The Slytherins had all gone very quiet, and Pansy was trying to smile through her tears, but it looked more like a grimace. Then shock began to dawn on Malfoy's face, and he started to back away. "You did this," he said, very quietly. "It was you." He raised his voice, so that the Slytherins could all hear. "It was all of you!" He whirled, and Harry caught a glimpse his face, paler than usual, and then all he saw was Malfoy's back retreating at speed towards the Entrance Hall. The Slytherins exchanged glances. Pansy gave up any pretence, and simply looked horrified; Theodore Nott was doing a very good impression of confusion and surprise. Crabbe and Goyle, however, were not so successful; they merely looked caught.

"Are you going to come and eat?"

It was Hermione; she was smiling at him, and Harry realised she hadn't heard a word of the exchange that had just taken place. The crowd of Gryffindors was now surrounding Ron, slapping him on the back as he recounted their daring rescue in a loud voice though he left out the part about Malfoy's father. The Slytherins were drifting away now, back to their own table; Harry couldn't believe no-one but him had overheard the key to the mystery.

"Harry?" Hermione's smile was becoming slightly anxious, and he realised he hadn't answered her question. "Are you all right?"

"No," Harry muttered. He was about to tell Hermione what he had heard, but something held him back. "I'm going to clean myself up," he said, snatching a plate of toast from the table and hurrying away as fast as he could, knowing that Hermione was staring after him with an anxious frown.

* * *

Harry was just pulling on a clean robe when there was a tapping on the dormitory window. It was a small barn owl. He let it in, and it hooted at him softly, nibbling his fingers; Harry quickly untied the parchment scroll from its keg and unrolled it. 

_Dear Harry,_

_You cannot imagine my relief to hear this morning that you are all right. Tonks sent me an owl with the news, which I read as soon as I could. I'm sorry that I can't come to Hogwarts right now, but I'm sure you know why. I'll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, please be very, very careful._

_Yours,_

_RJL_

Harry read the letter several times, and had a brief memory of the night before, the dewy grass sparkling in the harsh light of the full moon. Yes, he knew why Lupin couldn't come. What he didn't know was why Lupin _wanted_ to come: he was safe now, back in Hogwarts, or at least as safe as he could be anywhere. _Except they took you from here before_. The Slytherins... Had it really been them? Harry went over the exchange between Malfoy and Pansy in his head. Yes, it must have been them; there was no other explanation. Well, forewarned was forearmed. He folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into a pocket. _Don't worry, Professor. I'm not going to let them have another crack at me._ Closing the window against the cool morning air, he turned and set off for Dumbledore's office.

* * *

"Ah, Harry, my dear boy, do come in. I've been expecting you." Dumbledore smiled at Harry as he entered the room. 

"I'm glad to see you looking so well," Dumbledore said as Harry sat down, unable to resist glancing around at the many strange-looking objects that cluttered every surface of the round room. "What is it you would like to tell me?"

Harry stared at him in surprise, feeling somewhat annoyed. Dumbledore was acting like being kidnapped by Death Eaters and escaping dramatically in the middle of the night was an everyday occurrence. _Well, it practically is, for you_, a sarcastic voice at the back of his head pointed out. He ignored it, and swallowed his anger.

"I know who kidnapped me and Malfoy," he said. "It was the Slytherins."

Dumbledore didn't look surprised in the least, which only increased Harry's annoyance.

"I feared it might be so," he said with a sigh.

Harry frowned. "What?" he asked, incredulously. "You knew it was them? Why are they still here? They conspired to kill me! Well," he amended, "they conspired to kill Malfoy."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I cannot simply remove all the Slytherins from this school with no evidence of their wrong-doing, Harry," he said. "I suspected that some of their number might have been involved in the disappearance of Master Malfoy, but I thought you would be safe. I'm afraid I have once more proved my fallibility." He looked very old.

"Evidence?" Harry spluttered. "Pansy Parkinson admitted it to Malfoy! Right there in the Great Hall! What more do you want?"

"Ah yes, Miss Parkinson." Dumbledore sighed again. "I had hoped that she was not involved, but given her behaviour over the past few days, I had begun to suspect that that might not be the case. Nonetheless, implied confessions and heated accusations are no basis for mass expulsion, I'm afraid. Were I to resort to such desperate measures, I should be replaced as Headmaster immediately and the children returned to the school."

Harry shook his head in astonishment. "They couldn't do that! You're the Headmaster, you can expel who you want! We could tell the Ministry what they did, they would back you up!"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "You and I both know that is not what would happen, Harry. The Ministry has been forced to admit that Voldemort has returned, true, but I am still regarded by them as something of an embarrassment. Rash action in this case would be highly unwise."

A feeling of betrayal began to seep through Harry's insides. "Then what _are_ you going to do?" he asked, hearing the accusation in his own voice. "Surely you can't expect me to act as though everything's normal? What if they do it again?"

"That is something I wished to discuss with you, but we should wait for— Ah, Master Malfoy, do come in."

Harry turned sharply in his seat. Malfoy was standing in the doorway, looking around with a slight sneer. He must have been to the Hospital Wing, because his face was clear of bruising. He stalked forward and threw himself down into a second chair that had just appeared from nowhere, then shot Harry a vicious scowl.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. What I have to say concerns both of you." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "As Harry already knows, at the present time I am unable to remove any of your housemates from this school, Master Malfoy."

Malfoy looked surprised, then frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"Nonetheless, I can assure you that every measure will be taken to assure the safety of both of you. It is, of course, out of the question that Master Malfoy should continue to sleep in the Slytherin dormitory; furthermore, the simplest way to assure your safety is for you to be in close proximity, to allow concentration of our resources in one area. Thus, as of today, Master Malfoy will be sleeping in the sixth-year boys' dormitory of Gryffindor Tower."

"What!" Harry and Malfoy spoke with one voice.

"Master Malfoy's belongings have already been moved," Dumbledore continued calmly.

"You can _not_ be serious!" Malfoy was on his feet. "There's no way I'm moving in with the Gryffindors!"

Dumbledore looked up at him with an expression of absent-minded surprise. "I'm afraid that is your only option, Master Malfoy," he said mildly. "Unless you wish to continue living with the other Slytherins, although I would not advise it."

Malfoy looked furious. "I...," he paused, seeming to be groping for words. "Surely..." He shook his head, as if trying to clear it; then his mouth compressed into a thin line. "Is that all you wanted to see me for?" he asked coldly.

Dumbledore nodded. "You may leave, if you wish. I imagine if you go to the kitchens, the House-Elves will be pleased to give you something to eat. I understand you missed breakfast."

For a moment, Malfoy just stood there, staring at him. Then he turned and left, banging the door behind him. Dumbledore turned back to Harry.

"Professor, are you sure this is a good idea?" Harry asked, trying to imagine Malfoy sleeping in the same room as him. Or worse, in the same room as Ron.

Dumbledore sighed again. "I understand how you and Master Malfoy feel about each other," he said. "But for the time being, you will just have to learn to get along."

Harry shuddered. There was silence for a moment; Dumbledore appeared to be waiting for something. Then Harry remembered the question that had been plaguing him for some time.

"Professor, why did Voldemort want me to kill Malfoy?"

Dumbledore settled back in his chair, seeming to be looking at something Harry couldn't see. "Because he has realised that the ritual that returned him to his body did not give him the one power he craved: the power to kill you."

Harry frowned. "But he took my blood. He took the protection my mother gave me."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Ah, yes. But he did not receive the power to overcome that protection, merely the protection itself. Your mother's sacrifice was stronger magic than even Voldemort suspected."

Harry thought for a moment. "I still don't understand what that has to do with me killing Malfoy," he confessed.

"Your mother performed the ultimate sacrifice – she gave up her life for another out of love. The only way to reverse the spell is for the recipient of the sacrifice to take the life of another out of hate. That is why Voldemort would have you kill Master Malfoy."

Harry sat back, astonished, as the pieces began to fall into place: Malfoy chained up, but Harry free; the wand that would only perform Dark Magic; and the high, cold laughter in his head. _And you nearly did_, whispered an accusing voice at the back of his mind. _You nearly did kill Malfoy. He knows you better than you know yourself._

He became aware that Dumbledore was watching him. "Are you all right, Harry," he asked gently.

Harry straightened, trying to organise his thoughts. "Yeah... I'm fine, Professor." He paused. "Can I go now?"

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry stood up, a whirl of thoughts and feelings making him feel slightly sick. As he exited the room he thought he heard someone laughing coldly; but it was only his imagination.

* * *

"What!" 

Harry sighed. Ron's reaction was exactly as he had expected – the boy had practically gone purple in the face, his new skin tone clashing rather unpleasantly with his bright red hair.

"There is no way, absolutely _no_ way I'm sharing a room with Malfoy. He'll probably kill us all while we're sleeping! Or we'll end up killing _him_."

_But that's what he wants_, Harry thought, feeling his stomach lurch again._ He wants me to kill him._

"Ron, don't be ridiculous," Hermione was saying, grabbing Ron's arm and guiding him over a gap where a stair had suddenly disappeared from the staircase. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has a good reason for what he's doing, even if he won't tell us what it is." She shot Harry a quick smile, and he wondered if she realised he knew more than he was letting on. "And Malfoy won't do anything to you in your sleep."

Ron gave a bitter laugh. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to sleep with him." He stopped, his face changing from purple to bright red. "That is... I mean... urgh!"

Hermione shook her head. "You're so puerile," she said, loftily.

Ron looked like he was about to retort, but at that moment he was distracted by the sound of shouting coming from the Entrance Hall below them. The three of them leaned over the marble balustrade to see what was going on.

Narcissa Malfoy stood in the middle of the black-and-white checked floor of the Entrance Hall, wringing her hands with an anguished expression on her face. Some distance from her, his face red to the roots of his blonde hair, stood Malfoy. It was him they had heard shouting. Harry saw Hermione glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't look round.

"Draco," Narcissa was saying in a sobbing voice, taking a step forward. Malfoy backed away.

"Don't you come near me," he spat. "What do you take me for? D'you think I'll just let you do it again?"

Narcissa shook her head desperately. "I didn't know, Draco! I didn't have anything to do with it."

Malfoy's face became incandescent with rage. "They _saw _you!" he bellowed, the words echoing through the marble hall. "You were _there_! That was just a coincidence, was it?" Harry looked at Ron and Hermione in surprise – so Malfoy hadn't been sleeping on the train at all. He tried to remember if they had said anything else incriminating.

Narcissa was still shaking her head. "I went to see your father," she said the words slurring into one another in her haste to speak. "I knew where he was... I thought he might know something about what had happened to you. But I didn't know what he had done, darling, of course I didn't! I would never..." She took another step forward, her hands outstretched pleadingly.

Malfoy shook his head. "No," he said, his voice quiet now. "Don't you come near me. Don't you come near me ever again." And then he turned and ran, up the stairs towards where Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing. As he passed, Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Draco..." she started.

"Leave me alone, mudblood," Malfoy muttered, and pulled away, disappearing around the next bend in the staircase.

Harry looked over the balustrade again. Narcissa was looking up, and he thought he could see tears shining in her eyes. Then she lowered her face, and covered it with her hands.

Harry had never thought he would feel sorry for a Malfoy; yet as he watched her, he felt a brief stab of pity for both mother and son.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe it. He had spent three days of the previous week imprisoned by the darkest wizard in a century, had escaped through fire and brimstone across the moors, practically losing his feet to frostbite, and yet none of the professors were letting him off homework. He had spent most of the time since he had got back buried in books, and he still had to get through Potions, Transfiguration and Magical Transportation before he could even start on this week's work. He had known that NEWT courses would be difficult, but this was ridiculous. 

On the other hand, in some ways he was grateful for the distraction. He had been desperate to get back to Hogwarts the whole time he had been stuck in the cell with Malfoy, but now he was back, he found himself drifting once more into dark thoughts. The imminent threat of war had been somewhat alleviated, it was true – the _Daily Prophet_ had reported the burning of the Derbyshire village with some trepidation, but, three days later, there was no sign as yet that the fateful step had indeed been taken – yet still, nothing had changed. War _was_ coming, sooner or later. And Sirius was still dead. And Harry hadn't finished his Magical Transportation homework, even though that was the next class.

He rounded a corner hurriedly, and ran head-first into a floating pile of books that felt like a brick wall. The books scattered all over the floor, and Harry's textbook followed them; he rubbed the bridge of his nose ruefully.

"Harry Potter," said a voice. Harry looked up to see Ivanov, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, regarding him sternly. "You have spilt my books."

"I'm sorry sir," Harry muttered, bending to try and gather the books together, but Ivanov waved his wand, and they were floating in an orderly pile once more. He frowned, selecting a book from the pile and handing it to Harry.

"This is yours, no?"

Harry looked down at it. _Theory and Practice of Portkey Creation: A Beginner's Guide_ read the gold letters on the cover. "Yes," he said.

Ivanov nodded, unsmiling. "You will be being more careful with where you are going in the future."

Harry nodded again, feeling slightly resentful. "Yes," he repeated.

Ivanov raised an eyebrow and swept off without another word. Harry sighed, setting off once more for the library. However, when he rounded the next corner he once more ran smack bang into someone, and once more dropped his book.

"Oh, for God's sake," he cried out in frustration, and looked up to see Remus Lupin looking down at him mildly, his face worn and exhausted, but his eyes bright and clear. "Professor Lupin," he said in surprise, feeling somewhat ashamed of his outburst.

"Harry," Lupin said with a smile. "I wonder if I might have a word."

* * *

The first days after a full moon were always difficult. During the full moon itself, of course, Lupin's life was nothing but apprehension and pain and complete exhaustion. He had no energy to even think about the normal business of living life. Although he thanked every deity he could think of for the invention of Wolf's Bane potion, it did mean terrible, sleepless nights of stabbing pain and frustration as he paced back and forth in whatever prison he had found for himself that time. He would sleep during the day, when he could manage to stop himself from dwelling on the disquieting memory of the bloodlust that bubbled just under the surface during those long nights. That was all there was, for a few days each month. 

But then the moon would begin to wane, and Lupin would find himself fully human once more, but drained and empty. At one stage in his life, it had taken him more than a week to recover after every full moon. And then he had realised that the moon was stealing almost half his life, and he had put away self-pity and begun to live once more as soon as the first hint of darkness appeared at the edge of that hated white disk. Over the years, he had worked hard to maintain his cheerfulness, even in these difficult times, and for the most part he had succeeded. He knew, though, that he looked terrible; he saw the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror in the morning, and wondered how it was that it had been so long before anyone had guessed his secret.

"So you knew that Malfoy hadn't run away all along," Harry said, slowly.

Lupin sighed and shifted position slightly. They were sitting on a bench that butted up against the grey wall of the castle; in front of them, the grounds rolled away to the gloomy eaves of the Forbidden Forest. "Yes," he said. "We knew. Dumbledore told us as soon as he discovered Draco was missing last Monday."

"That's why you were at Hogwarts," Harry said.

Lupin nodded. "I'm sorry, Harry, I should have told you when I saw you," he said. "I should have learned by now that keeping secrets from you usually causes more problems than it solves. Perhaps if you had known, you would have been more careful."

"Well, I wasn't exactly going around wearing a sign that said 'Kidnap Me'," Harry retorted sharply. "It's not like I did it on purpose."

Lupin looked at him in some surprise; that hadn't been what he had meant at all. but Harry wasn't looking at him – he was staring fixedly into the distance, and Lupin was reminded forcibly of their last meeting. "No," he said gently. "No, I know you didn't."

Harry still didn't look at Lupin. "So no more secrets, then?" he demanded.

Lupin thought of the will that was still lying on the dresser at 12, Grimmauld Place. "No," he said weakly. "No more secrets."

They sat in silence for a while. Lupin felt all the tangled emotions of the past few days begin to overwhelm him. He had imagined meeting Harry again, hugging him, telling him everything. And yet here he was, seated beside an angry young teenager, and he hadn't even got to the subject of Sirius' will yet. _You're weak_, said Snape's voice in his head. _You've always been weak_. And Lupin couldn't help but agree.

* * *

The longer the silence grew, the more Harry felt resentment welling up inside him. Why was Lupin even here? To lecture him about taking more care? He was never going to get his Magical Transportation homework done at this rate. 

"I've got to go to lessons in a few minutes," he said in a monotone.

Lupin nodded. "How's everything else going?" he asked carefully.

Harry shrugged. "Same as usual, I suppose. Except for Malfoy."

Malfoy was sharing the Gryffindor lessons, common room and dormitories now; not that you would notice if you didn't know it. At lessons he sat at the back and never spoke unless called on. In the evening he came in just before curfew and headed straight up to the dormitories without a second look at any of the glaring Gryffindors. By the time Harry and the other sixth-year boys reached the dormitory, the curtains were firmly closed around his bed, and stayed that way until after they had all left in the morning. In fact, Harry saw less of Malfoy now than he had before their imprisonment, and for that he was profoundly grateful, because every time he saw the boy's face he was reminded of the feeling of power he had felt when he had cursed him.

"That poor boy," Lupin said quietly.

Harry shook his head. "It serves him right," he muttered. "It's about time someone took him down a peg or two."

Lupin looked at him with an expression of astonishment. "I didn't expect that from you, of all people."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. The resentment he felt towards Lupin didn't prevent a stab of misery at the disappointment he could hear in the older man's tone. "Why should _I_ care about that idiot?"

Lupin was silent for a moment, frowning. Harry waited. Finally Lupin shook his head. "Because you know what it's like to lose your parents," he said.

"What?" Harry stared. "You can't be serious. That's totally different."

"Is it?" Lupin asked quietly.

"Of course it is!" Harry could hear his voice begin to rise. "My parents died!"

"Your parents sacrificed their lives to save yours," Lupin said. "Draco's parents traded his life to gain power. Which do you think is worse?"

Harry felt anger boiling inside him. "I can't _believe_ you're even comparing them!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "Malfoy's parents are evil bastards!"

"But they're the only parents he has, and he loves them." Lupin seemed entirely unruffled by Harry's rage. He met Harry's angry gaze, and raised one eyebrow. "I know you dislike Draco, Harry, and I don't blame you. He's not a very likeable boy. But he's totally alone in the world, he has no parents, no friends."

"I didn't have any friends till I was eleven," Harry said, his voice still loud. He was beginning to feel somewhat embarrassed shouting at the clearly unmoved Lupin.

"Exactly," Lupin said. "That's why I assumed that you wouldn't wish that on anyone else." He waited for a moment. Harry did his best to maintain an angry face, though he wanted nothing more than to storm away and hide. Lupin sighed. "I would rather see Draco turn into a bitter man who fights for our side, like Snape, than have him lost to hatred forever," he said. "You may be that boy's last hope, Harry." He looked at his watch and tutted. "But you'll be late for your class," he said, as if they had been talking about nothing more serious than the weather. He stood up, brushing down the front of his worn old coat, and smiled down at Harry.

"I'm glad to see you're all right," he said. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch. I'm always available."

"Except on full moon," Harry said, and looked up in time to see Lupin's expression twitch.

"Yes," the older man agreed, looking suddenly very tired. "Except then."

Harry watched him walk away across the grounds, and the momentary sense of vicious satisfaction he had felt to have pierced Lupin's armour was replaced by an abiding feeling of guilt.

* * *

Harry made it to Magical Transportation just in time. He flopped down into the seat that Ron and Hermione had saved for him just as Madam Hooch swept into the room. 

"Good morning," she said, scanning the rows of faces in front of her. "You'll be pleased to know, after last week's unutterably dull history lesson, we will be beginning work on Portkey Creation Theory this week."

Harry tried to remember last week's lesson. He had not been able to find any notes from it, and had come to the conclusion that he hadn't made any. All he remembered of the previous Thursday was a kind of fog of dread and grim expectation. Well, it can't have been that important anyway, he decided.

"But before we begin," Madam Hooch was continuing, "we will be choosing partners for the practical project which will be continuing throughout the term, until such time as you are able to create Portkeys by yourselves."

There was an immediate buzz of talk as people paired themselves off. Ron and Hermione looked at Harry; but Harry was hearing Lupin's quiet voice in his head. _You might be that boy's last chance._ But Lupin was wrong, of course. How could _he_, of all people, help Malfoy? Why would he even want to? It wasn't his problem that Malfoy's dad was rotten to the core, and most likely criminally insane. It served the little toad right, after everything he'd said about Harry's family over the years. Now he would know what it felt like to be alone in the world.

Suddenly, an image flashed into Harry's head. Himself, at the age of eight, trailing after Dudley to the school gates at hometime, looking down at his shoes that didn't fit right and were falling apart, and thinking about the day. They had had a special project day, and each child had spent the whole day building a model of a windmill, with sails that really turned. Dudley's windmill was misshapen, and the sails caught on the frame. Harry's was broken into pieces in his bag, after Dudley had taken offence to its smooth operation. All around him, he heard the shouts of his excited classmates as they showed their parents what they had made, but when he looked up, he saw that the Dursleys had already set off towards the car, not bothering to wait for him to arrive at the gate. That wasn't unusual in itself it happened most days, for Harry was never as eager as his peers to reach the school gate and freedom but for some reason, the combination of circumstances drove a sudden spike of loneliness through Harry's guts that made him catch his breath. He dragged the wreckage of his windmill from his satchel and stared at it for a long moment. Then he cast it aside, drew a deep breath, and followed the Dursleys to their car.

"Oy, Harry," Ron said, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "Wake up! Who d'you want to partner with?"

Harry looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. Hardly able to believe what he was doing, he rose to his feet and walked towards the back of the room, leaving Ron and Hermione staring after him in surprise.

Malfoy was sitting staring at the surface of his desk. He had no partner. Harry dropped the heavy _Portkey Creation_ textbook onto the splintered wooden surface of the desk with a heavy thud; Malfoy looked up, his expression changing from startled to annoyed.

"What do you want?" he asked, his lips curling automatically.

"I want..." Harry paused, then drew a deep breath. "I want to be your partner for the project."

Malfoy stared at him incredulously. After a moment, he shook his head. "Very funny. Now fuck off."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Harry asked. He sat down in the chair next to Malfoy, and saw Ron staring back at him and mouthing something furiously.

"Go _away_, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Everyone got partners? Good," Madam Hooch called from the front of the class. "I'll discuss the project at the end of the lesson. Now, quills at the ready, please."

And Harry bent his head over his parchment, and tried to ignore the stares that were coming from every corner of the classroom, and not least from Malfoy himself.

* * *

"I just do not get it," Ron said, for the millionth time. Harry looked up from his homework once more, and sighed. 

"Look, can we just drop it?" he said. "I'd really rather not be reminded of it."

"But you're going to be," Ron said, shaking his head incredulously. "You're going to be reminded of it every bloody time we have Magical Transportation. You do realise you're going to have to sit next to him every week, don't you? And_ talk_ to him?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ he realises, Ron. Harry's not stupid. And, just so you know, I think it was a very noble gesture."

Harry closed his eyes. It was bad enough having Ron go on and on, without Hermione talking about nobility. "Look," he said, through gritted teeth, "I was just trying to do what Professor Lupin said."

"Yeah," Ron said, frowning. "But I just _don't_ get it."

Harry was saved from having to reply by the appearance of the subject of their conversation in the room. Malfoy strode in through the portrait hole and headed straight for the stairs to the dormitory, as he did every night. Harry rose to his feet.

"Malfoy," he said.

"Fuck off, Potter," Malfoy said, without slowing his pace. Harry grabbed him by the arm.

"Hey," he said, then realised he didn't know what else to say.

Malfoy glared at him. "What do you want from me?" he hissed. "What kind of game are you playing?"

Harry forced himself to breathe slowly. "I just want... I just want... I feel bad..."

Malfoy's face twisted in anger. "Oh, so that's it, is it?" he said, his voice still pitched low, but taut with anger. "You feel _sorry _ for me. You're trying to be _noble_. Well let me tell you this, Potter," he leaned forward so that he was speaking right into Harry's ear. "I don't need your pity." He ripped his arm out of Harry's grasp and stormed off towards the stairs.

Harry shook his head. _I tried, Professor_, he thought. But Malfoy had stopped and turned at the foot of the spiral staircase.

"Potter," he called back across the common room, and Harry looked up. "If you really want to help me, find out how they did it." His eyes narrowed with anger. "Get them expelled, and then I can get out of this nest of bloody self-righteous do-gooders."

And with that, he whirled, and disappeared up the stairs.


	6. A Rocking Cradle

Harry Potter and all the characters are property of J K Rowling, Bloomsbury Books and Warner Brothers. I am not making any profit from this story.

Well, apologies for the long hiatus with this story. Unfortunately it's all AU now that HBP has been published, but I hope that some of you may still wish to read it. Many thanks to Dragenphly, Angelika, MachiavellianOrange and My Cat Frank for their kind reviews. I've included a summary of the story so far, since I imagine most people will have forgotten...

_The story so far: Harry has returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year, but he finds it difficult to overcome his grief for Sirius and his difficulty in returning to normal life. Sirius is declared officially dead by the Ministry of Magic. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy has gone missing, which convinces Harry that Voldemort's army of Death Eaters is headed for Hogwarts. Remus Lupin comes to the school to give Harry Sirius's will, which names him as sole heir and Remus as his guardian; however, Harry pushes him away before he is able to inform him of the latter stipulation. The next day, Harry awakes in a cell with no memory of how he got there. The only other occupant is Malfoy, who's chained to the wall. Ron and Hermione use a Locator Spell to find Malfoy, but Dumbledore is reluctant to follow the results, so they set off alone to Derbyshire to find Harry. Meanwhile, Harry comes to blows with Malfoy, and shortly afterwards discovers his wand in the cell. He finds it has been bewitched so that it can only perform Unforgiveable Curses. Malfoy teaches him _Imperio_, and he uses it on the House Elf who comes to feed them. The two of them break out, and run into Ron and Hermione in the corridor. They overhear a conversation between Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy, revealing the former's plan to destroy the protection spell in Harry's blood by making him take the life of another, i.e. Malfoy, in anger. They flee over the hills, where they are met by members of the Order, who return them to Hogwarts._

_Once back, Malfoy realises it must have been his fellow Slytherins who set him up. He is moved to Harry's dormitory to prevent a similar occurrence, and both boys are prohibited from leaving the grounds. Lupin comes to see Harry, and points out that Malfoy is now alone in the world, and in need of a friend. Harry chooses Malfoy as a partner for the term-long Magical Transportation project. Malfoy rejects Harry's overture of friendship, and says if he wants to help he can find proof that the Slytherins were involved in their abduction._

_And now, the astonishing continuation!_

**Slouching Towards Bethlehem**

**Chapter Seven: A Rocking Cradle**

Ron looked at Harry in surprise. "What does he mean? Get who expelled?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "The Slytherins," he muttered. "Malfoy thinks... He says they were the ones who kidnapped us. That's why Dumbledore moved him here."

Ron sat back, looking surprised. Hermione was staring at Harry, but she said nothing.

"I knew they'd fallen out," said Ron, "but I never thought... D'you think it's true?"

Harry felt his shoulders slump. "I know it's true," he said quietly. "I overheard them talking about it."

"What?" Ron stared. "When?"

Harry couldn't meet his gaze. "The day we got back. Sunday."

"And you didn't tell us?" Ron's voice was rising. "You've known who did it all this time and you never told us? Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry sneaked a glance – his friend's face looked stunned and hurt. Harry glanced over at Hermione, but she looked away.

"I... I was going to, but..." Harry shook his head. "It didn't..." He couldn't think of an excuse. He looked at Hermione again. She didn't meet his eyes.

"But you know now," Harry said, feeling desperation rise inside him. Why couldn't they see? He hadn't told them because... Because...

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Ron said. "We only found out cos bloody Malfoy's quite happy to shout the odds all over the common room. What _is_ your problem?" The surprise was beginning to fade from his face now, leaving only hurt and a growing anger. "Don't you trust us?"

"Of course I do," Harry said, feeling miserable.

"Yeah, well, you've got a funny way of showing it," Ron snapped, and stood up abruptly. "I'm going to bed. At least I know how _Malfoy_ feels about me." And he stormed off up the stairs.

Harry looked at Hermione, and she caught his eye for the first time, and his heart dropped as he recognised the look of disappointment on her face. "I do trust you," he said lamely.

"I know you do, Harry," Hermione said. "But you should have told us." And she buried her head in her book, and didn't look up again.

----

Harry sat in the common room long after everyone else had gone to bed. The fire burned down, throwing dancing shadows into the corners of the room. Beyond the casement windows was an impenetrable darkness. But Harry didn't see any of it -- he was busy thinking.

Hermione was right, of course. He should have told her and Ron about the Slytherins. He had been going to, right there in the hall. But then -- he hadn't. He tried to work out why, but the more he tried to unravel his emotions, the more tangled they became. But then, why should he tell them everything? Wasn't he allowed to have any privacy at all? It wasn't like he had kept it secret, exactly. There had just never been an appropriate moment to tell them. What would they have done, anyway? It wasn't _their_ problem. It wasn't _them_ who always wound up being targeted, who was kidnapped and threatened and plotted against, whose very dreamswere invaded. OK, they usually got involved, but that was their choice. He didn't force them to follow him around, and he was under no obligation to let them in on all the latest secret knowledge, just because they liked going around on adventures. _Adventures_. Lucky them if that's all they were to them. Ron was so obsessed with being _famous_, and Hermione just wanted to show off. And now they were trying to make _him_ feel guilty for not telling them every little thing about his life. They were being totally unreasonable. Yeah, unreasonable, that was it. He was fed up with being made to feel guilty because his life wasn't as damn well _perfect_ as theirs, because he was upset that Sirius was dead, because he was always being expected to save the world -- he could hardly be expected to be happy happy joy joy all the time. Well, he wouldn't stand for it any more. If they wanted to treat him that way, he would damn well give them a piece of his mind. It would serve them right.

With a feeling of savage satisfaction, Harry went to bed.

----

He was up early in the morning, despite his late night, and hurriedly dressed and left the dormitory before any of the other boys were awake. His breath smoked in the chilly air that radiated from the stone walls of the spiral staircase, and he shivered slightly. The light that filtered through the leaded windows was grey and wan, matching Harry's mood. His righteous anger had evaporated, leaving him feeling apprehensive and unsure of himself. He felt slightly light-headed from lack of sleep, and unsettled from a dream that he couldn't quite remember.

The long tables in the Great Hall were still mostly empty; a couple of yawning seventh-years debated something in low voices at the Gryffindor table. Apart from that, it was deserted -- except for Draco Malfoy.

Harry was surprised -- he had thought that the closed curtains around Malfoy's bed were a sign that he was still asleep. Clearly he had been mistaken. For a moment, the idea of sitting down next to Malfoy flitted through his mind. Then the other boy looked up and shot him a scowl of such concentrated hatred that Harry was almost impressed. He raised his eyebrows in reply, and went to sit at the other end of the table.

He wasn't left in peace for long, however. About fifteen minutes after he had sat down, Ron and Hermione came through the main doors, looking slightly out of breath. Harry carefully rearranged his features into an expression which he hoped looked cool and cynical.

"Harry," said Ron, looking relieved. Then he frowned. "What's wrong? You got stomach-ache or something?"

Harry frowned. "I suppose you think that's funny," he said, and despite his efforts, his tone was more sullen than sarcastic.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance, which somehow only served to increase Harry's irritation. "I see," he said, icily. "You've been talking about me, have you?"

Ron gave an exasperated sigh. "Look, mate, we're just worried about you, that's all. There's no need to jump down our throats. As far as I remember, it wasn't us that was keeping secrets."

Harry clenched his jaw, all the resentment and circling arguments of the night before rising within him. "Keeping _secrets_ now, is it," he said. "Next you'll be accusing me of wanting to take all the glory for myself."

Ron stared at him. "What _are_ you on about?"

Harry jumped to his feet, his fists clenched. He wanted to yell at them, scream out all the resentment, all the black frustration that was dragging him down. But he couldn't find the words. "Oh just... leave me alone," he muttered, and, pushing his way between them, stalked out of the room.

----

The following Sunday dawned bright and clear, but without the nip of frost in the air that had been growing more and more evident over the last week or two. Outside it felt almost as warm as June, and most of the students were out on the grass, enjoying summer's last fling before the year drew down around their ears. Harry, however, was in no mood for sunbathing: he had had another disturbing dream, though he couldn't remember any more than a long strip of something grey and a feeling of unspecified threat. He sat brooding on the sofa in the common room, with the few students who were so behind on their homework that they had been forced to relinquish their Sunday afternoon. Most of them were first-years whose names Harry didn't know, and they left him to himself, for which he was grateful. Ron and Hermione had abandoned the gloomy common room for the outdoors, after pleading with him at some length. He felt a pang of guilt for the way that he had snapped at them, but quickly shook it off -- why should he have to go out just because they wanted him to?

He found his mind drifting back to his dream. The air had been dim and smoky, and the grey strip had shone dully, stretching out before him. And a stifled giggle--

--A stifled giggle. What did that remind him of? He felt the thought slip through his head, too fast for him to see it clearly. Frowning, he carefully went back over his train of thought, but whatever it was was too quick for him. Sighing in frustration, he stood up abruptly and headed for the portrait hole.

----

Ron and Hermione found him some time later, sitting in one of the bay windows of the library and staring out through the mullioned glass at the darkening sky. They smiled, a trifle nervously, Harry thought; they had been acting extra nice around him since the argument on Wednesday, which had never really been resolved.

"There you are," Hermione said. "We were worried about you. Why weren't you at dinner?"

"Dinner?" Harry felt slightly confused. Surely it wasn't that late yet? But Ron and Hermione's expressions, combined with the sudden yawning emptiness in his stomach, told him that a lot more time had passed than he had realised. "Oh," he said, feeling stupid. "I didn't realise it was dinnertime."

Ron glanced at Hermione, then pushed Harry's bag off the chair next to him and plumped down. "What've you been doing?" he asked, amiably.

Harry shrugged. "Thinking."

"Yeah? What about?"

Harry felt slightly annoyed at the intrusion, but he was determined not to start yet another row. "About how the Slytherins got in to the common room," he said, shortly.

"Oh, that." Ron frowned. "Well, they must've had the password," he said, "and they must've been bloody lucky that no-one saw them."

"Yes, but..." Harry stopped short. The thought he had been trying to catch earlier had slithered through his brain once more.

"But what?" Ron asked. Harry shot him a glare and frowned, concentrating very hard. There! There it was!

"I heard them!" he said, louder than he'd intended. Madame Pince looked round, sharply, and Harry bent his head closer to his two friends. "I heard someone laughing in the corridor, the day Lupin told me about the will. But there was no-one there."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry stared at her in surprise. That hadn't been the response he'd been expecting. "What d'you mean?"

"Well," Hermione said carefully, "we know you've been under a lot of stress since... since the Department of Mysteries, and what with all this business with Voldemort and..." She paused, looking at him as if she expected something. "You been behaving rather..." she trailed off.

Harry looked from her to Ron, still trying to work out what she was getting at. Hermione nudged Ron sharply, and he let out a grunt of surprise, which he attempted unsuccessfully to cover with a cough.

"Well, um," Ron started, clearing his throat. Then, as if he'd come to decision, he leaned forward urgently. "Listen, mate," he whispered, "it's not normal to hear voices when there's nobody there, now, is it?"

Harry sat back in astonishment. _This_ again? He thought he ought to be offended, but all he felt was an overwhelming desire to laugh. He covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking silently. Containing himself, he looked up, only to be drowned in a fresh paroxysm of noiseless giggles by the perplexed looks on Ron and Hermione's faces. He shook his head, unable to speak, his eyes filling with tears, and managed to jerk his head in the direction of the exit.

Once outside, Harry let loose a burst of laughter so loud that a passing first year started in astonishment. He leaned against the wall, actually slapping his thigh, and laughed until his diaphragm began to ache painfully. By the time he'd finished, Hermione was looking rather cross.

"_What_ was all that about?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he giggled, and it was true -- nothing they had said had been particularly funny. "Just, you know..." His attempt at explanation was submerged by more spluttering.

"Fine," Hermione snapped, and Harry pulled himself together.

"No, listen," he said, wiping away his tears. "I didn't mean I heard a voice and no-one was there. Someone _was_ there. They must have been. That must be how the Slytherins got the password! They heard it when I went in."

"What, you mean they were hiding?" Ron asked.

"No." Harry was calming down now, and thinking fast. "They must have an Invisibility Cloak."

"I don't know, Harry, those're pretty rare," Ron pointed out.

"They can't be that rare, Mad-Eye Moody's got two," Harry countered.

Ron looked doubtful. "Yeah, but..." But he was cut off by Hermione jumping up and down in excitement. If it wasn't for the fact that there was no teacher in visual range, Harry was sure she would have had her hand in the air.

"But!" she cried, "Professor Moody lost one of his cloaks when he lent it to Sturgis Podmore!"

Ron and Harry stared at her, not making the connection.

"Oh, come on, you two," Hermione said impatiently. "He didn't get the cloak back because Sturgis Podmore was captured by..."

"You-Know-Who," Ron said.

"And the Slytherins were working for..." Hermione continued.

"You-Know-Who," said Ron, a tinge of awe in his voice.

"That's brilliant, Hermione!" Harry said, jumping forward and hugging his friend. A moment later he let go of her, awkwardly. "So all we've got to do is find the cloak and we'll have the evidence." He paused. "I ought to go and tell Malfoy," he added, unenthusiastically.

"Why?" Ron looked annoyed. "Not like he deserves to be in on any of this."

For a moment, Harry remembered his resentment at the way Ron seemed to view his life as an adventure, but he fought it back. "Well, I've got to go and talk to him about the Magical Transportation homework anyway," he said. "Maybe he'll be less of an idiot if he thinks we're trying to help him out."

"Malfoy couldn't be less of an idiot if someone gave him all Hermione's brains," Ron muttered, but Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"We'll come too," she announced, and ignored the filthy look Ron shot her. "For moral support," she added.

Harry was somewhat surprised, but grateful nonetheless. It would be easier to face Malfoy with his two best friends by his side. "Alright, then," he said. "Let's go."

----

The Gryffindor common room was crowded with students chatting and laughing, the day outside in the sunshine having put them in high spirits, but, unsurprisingly, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Harry led the way up the spiral stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. The sky outside the narrow windows was studded with stars, and cool air radiated from the stone walls. The door to the sixth year dormitory was firmly closed, and when Harry threw it open Malfoy, who was sitting on his bed reading something, let out a yelp of surprise.

Ron grinned as he followed Harry into the room. "Whatsa matter, Malfoy? Scared of the big scary Gryffindors?"

Malfoy's features had already rearranged themselves into his traditional disdainful scowl. "Just surprised to see you here, Weasley. Aren't you supposed to be in the girls' tower?" His scowl deepened as he spotted Hermione, who was bringing up the rear. "What's that little mudblood doing here?"

Ron stiffened, but Hermione just rolled her eyes. "We've come to tell you something."

"_You're_ never likely to say anything I want to listen to," Malfoy sneered.

"Shut up, you idiot," Harry snapped. "She's trying to help you."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought she'd want to help herself first," he said coolly. "But then, I guess there isn't any helping the likes of her, is there?"

Ron stepped forward with a growl, but Hermione sighed loudly and stepped in front of him. "Look," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "do you want my help or not? Because honestly, all this sulking really isn't going to do you any good."

Malfoy's expression froze, and then he turned a look of baleful hatred on her. "_Sulking?_" he whispered.

"Yeah," Harry stepped forward now, pleased to see Malfoy lose some of his composure. "You've done nothing but mope about the place since we got back to Hogwarts. We're trying to help you, and all you can do is insult us. It's about time you grew up and stopped being such a--" He swallowed the last words of his sentence, taken somewhat aback by the force of anger in the stare the Malfoy was now directing his way.

"What about _you_?" Spots of colour were burning in Malfoy's pale cheeks, and he was standing almost nose-to-nose with Harry now, though Harry couldn't remember having seen him move. "_I've_ been moping around? _You've_ been the school drip since that idiot Black bought it, and I don't see anyone telling _you_ to snap out of it. And that was _months_ ago!"

Harry felt his jaw clench. "That's different," he growled.

"Why? Why is it different?" Malfoy was so close that Harry could see a muscle twitching at his temple. Harry looked around for support to Ron and Hermione, but they were just staring at him, looking rather terrified. "Oh, forget it," Malfoy snapped, and pushed his way past Harry and down the stairs, his steps echoing against the worn stone.

"Wanker," Ron said amiably, but Harry was in no mood for frivolity. He turned to his two friends.

"That's what you think, isn't it," he said, keeping his voice very calm. "You think I've been... _moping_. That's why you didn't say anything."

"What?" Ron looked guilty. "Of course not, Harry. Malfoy's just an arse, everyone knows that."

Harry wasn't listening. "You think I'm as bad as _him_," he said, almost to himself.

"Harry," Hermione stepped forward and put her hand on his arm, but Harry pulled away furiously.

"No, you know what? Malfoy's right. Let's just forget it." And he almost ran to the exit, sure that if he stayed in the room a moment longer he would explode. He heard Ron and Hermione calling after him, and the complaints of surprised Gryffindors as he shoved his way through the common room, but it all felt like it was a long way away. He had to get away, away from the fake sympathy and gossip. He had to get out of the castle.

----

The temperature had dropped significantly since earlier in the day, and the smoke of Harry's breath glinted slightly in the faint light of the stars as he made his way alongside the dark waters of the lake to the beech tree. The cool air did nothing to calm his temper, however, and his fists were still tightly clenched in his pockets when he realised that someone else had had the same idea: hunched at the bottom of the tree was a dark shape that could have been a bundle of clothes in the darkness, were it not for the pale blob on top of it that could only be interpreted as Draco Malfoy's head. Harry stopped dead in the middle of the path, feeling conflicting desires to turn tail and find another hiding place, or to throw Malfoy in the lake for stealing the spot that had such strong associations for Harry. In the end, he did neither: Malfoy had already spotted him.

"Look, Potter," he said, sounding annoyed, though Harry could see nothing of his expression, "I told you. I'm not interested in your help. Can't you just leave me alone?"

Harry let out a short bark of laughter that was utterly lacking in mirth. "I didn't come out here to find _you_, you arrogant twit. It's not my fault you're sitting in my spot."

"Well, it's not my fault you like to follow me around, but you don't see me whining about it, do you?"

"No, that's true," Harry replied, doing his best to match Malfoy's tone of lofty disinterest. "You're too busy whining about how daddy hates you." The moment after he said it, he saw a flash of Lupin's face, looking disappointed. But it was too late to take it back now, even if he'd wanted do (and despite his mental Lupin, he wasn't sure he did) -- Malfoy was on his feet, still far enough away for his face to be a blur, but close enough for his posture to be easily read. He was furious.

"What the _Hell_ would you know about my father, Potter? It's not like you've ever had one of your own!"

Harry heard an actual growl come out of his mouth, and reached for his wand, only to remember that it was still being unhexed by McGonagall. "My dad was more of a father in one year than yours could manage in a lifetime," he grated.

"Ha!" Malfoy's laughter was closer to hysteria than derision. "That muggle-loving idiot! He must have been a _brilliant_ father, he made such a _good_ choice of godfather. Somehow, I'm not surprised he couldn't get himself a real pure-blood, just a mudblood bitch like that busybody Granger..."

His words were choked off in a strangled cry, as Harry launched himself. The force of his forward rush knocked Malfoy to the ground, and after that, everything was a blur. Harry could hear a loud whistling noise in his ears, and he was aware vaguely of rolling over and over, and hands beating at him; but all his concentration was poured into his fists. He had no concept of time passing, or of anything really except an enormous relief at being able to just _hit_ something. Nothing else mattered to him, until he suddenly found that he couldn't breathe. Somehow, he and Malfoy had fallen into the lake.

Flailing, he coughed and choked to drive out the water that he had breathed into his lungs. He thrust the body of the other boy away from him, and fought to get back to the air, but his foot tangled in Malfoy's robe, and he found himself being dragged down. The water was completely dark. Harry reached in the direction of his foot, and managed to untangle it, then righted himself. His feet found the muddy lake bottom. Standing up, gasping, he discovered the water was only up to his mid-thighs.

He stood there for a moment, partially immersed in the water, the temperature of which did not seem to have been affected by the warmth of the day. Then he began to stagger towards the shore. Behind him, he heard Malfoy erupt from the water, spluttering. A moment later, the other boy collapsed beside him under the beech tree.

For a long while there was no sound but two sets of laboured breathing. Various parts of Harry began to sting with pain, both from the cold of the water and from cuts and bruises that must have been inflicted either by Malfoy or by the rolling on the ground. The lights in the windows of the castle seemed very far away. The silence stretched out, and then it was broken.

"Bloody Hell," said Malfoy, with feeling.

Harry nodded, suddenly too tired to speak. He lay on his back, staring up at the stars through the partially-denuded branches of the beech tree. Sometimes, life was just... weird.

"We've got to do that Magical Transportation assignment by tomorrow evening," he noted, absently.

"Bollocks," said Malfoy. "Can't you get the mudblood to do it for us? She does half your other homework."

Harry closed his eyes. His whole body felt heavy. "Why d'you always call her that?"

"What?" Malfoy seemed to be thinking. "Mudblood? 'Cause she is one."

"There's nothing wrong with her blood," Harry said. "It's just as good as yours."

There was a strangled splutter from Malfoy, but it seemed rather half-hearted. "Give it up, Potter. You know pure blood is better. You must know."

"Yeah? Who told you that?" Harry asked, feeling as if this conversation was happening to someone else."

"My f-" Malfoy stopped short. For a moment, he was quiet. "Everybody knows," he finished.

"I don't," Harry replied. "Hermione's cleverer than you or me, or any pure-blood wizard in this school, most likely."

"Yeah, well." Malfoy made a movement that might have been a shrug. "Brains aren't everything."

"Neither's blood."

Malfoy made no reply. Harry became conscious of how cold he was getting. His fingertips were growing numb. Nevertheless, he had no desire to go back to the castle.

"Can you do a Warming Charm or something?" he asked Malfoy.

"Haven't got a new wand yet," the other boy replied.

"Oh." Harry wiggled his toes in his soaking shoes. They squelched in a not-altogether-pleasant manner. "You know," he continued, "she's only trying to help you. We all are. Well, maybe not Ron," he amended.

"What's your point?" Malfoy's voice had lost all tones of hostility. He sounded blank.

"That you shouldn't insult the only person who's trying to be your friend?"

Malfoy snorted. "Oh please. More of that demented Gryffindor crap. In case you hadn't noticed, Potter, the last set of friends I had turn out to be a bunch of back-stabbing bastards. You'll forgive me if I'm not particularly keen to make any more."

Harry shook his head, slowly. "You think becoming a hermit's going to make anything easier?" he asked.

"Maybe. What do you care anyway?"

"Because I know what it's like not to have anyone."

"Spare me." Malfoy's voice dripped with sarcasm, but had it been Harry's imagination, or had there been the shortest of hesitations before he spoke? He pressed his advantage.

"I'm just saying maybe you should be a bit nicer to her, that's all."

Malfoy gave a heavy sigh. "Maybe _you_ should try being nice to her for a change, Potter. She's _your_ friend, after all. At least I have the excuse of not liking her."

Harry felt stung. "It's not like you were ever nice to your friends," he pointed out.

"You don't know the first thing about me and my friends, Potter," Malfoy said, still in that dead tone.

"I've got eyes," Harry muttered.

Malfoy sat up. "You could have fooled me. Now, if you don't mind," he continued, getting briskly to his feet, "I've had enough of this _deeply_ disturbing conversation. I'm freezing my arse off out here, so I'm going back to bed. You can come if you want, I couldn't care less, but if they find your frozen corpse in the morning, don't blame me."

Harry jumped to his feet and caught up with Malfoy, who had already started back down the path. They walked in silence for a while. When they had almost reached the circle of light thrown by the castle, Malfoy spoke.

"I hope you understand that I still hate you, Potter," he said, without looking at Harry.

And to his surprise, Harry found himself grinning in the darkness. "Yeah," he said. "The feeling's mutual."

----

Ron and Hermione were in the common room when they arrived back at Gryffindor Tower, and they both jumped up in surprise when they saw Malfoy enter with Harry in tow.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "What on Earth happened to you?"

Harry looked down at his dripping robes. A slimy tendril of weed protruded from one of his sleeves, and there was a tear in one of the knees, through which he could glimpse dried blood on the pale skin of his leg. "I had a fight," he explained. "With the lake."

"Both of you?" Ron looked at Malfoy with suspicion. Harry turned to look at him too, and saw that the boy's pale face and hair were smeared with mud, and he had a deep scratch on his chin.

"What's it to you,Weasley?" Malfoy snapped.

Ron scowled, but Hermione put a hand on his arm. "Foveo! Reparo!" she said. Harry felt warmth spread through him, and his robes began to steam. Hermione looked at him critically. "I'd rather not do the scratches," she said. "I wouldn't want them to scar. You should go to Madame Pomfrey."

She turned to Malfoy, repeating her actions. Then she held out a bulky package. "This came for you," she said, her tone neutral.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and took the parcel, ripping off the paper. Harry craned his neck to see what it was: a brand-new copy of _Theory and Practice of Portkey Creation_, the gold leaf still shining brightly on the leather cover. Two other things were in the parcel: a wand box and a note written on expensive-looking paper. Malfoy read it quickly, then stood there for a moment, staring at the book and the box in his hands. Suddenly, he strode to the fire, and without hesitation, shoved the book into the flames. Hermione made a noise of astonishment, but Malfoy wasn't listening. He made a move as if to do the same with the box, then seemed to change his mind, and shoved it into his pocket. Without looking at any of them, he turned on his heel and strode away, disappearing up the staircase.

"Madder than a box of frogs," Ron said, sounding almost obscenely cheerful. Hermione was trying to rescue the book from the flames, but it had caught surprisingly quickly, and was now burning merrily. Harry saw the note, which had fallen to the floor beside the fire, and after a moment's hesitation, he picked it up. He ignored his feeling of guilt for reading someone else's personal correspondence, and unfolded the paper.

_Dearest Draco_, it read, _I know you lost your wand last week, and I heard that you also lost your copy of this book in the move to your new accommodation. Ollivander remembered you well, and sent you the same wand you had before. I hope you're doing well; Professor Snape assures me that he is keeping an eye on you. Please write to me soon. Mother._

The paper was slightly puffy in places; Harry wondered if Narcissa had been crying when she wrote it. He read the letter again, somehow unable to help himself, but then he saw Ron staring at him.

"What's that," Ron asked, trying to see.

Harry shoved the letter in his pocket hastily. "Nothing." He faked a yawn. "I'm going to bed," he said, and was already half-way up the stairs before either Ron or Hermione had time to ask any more questions. When he reached the dormitory, Malfoy's curtains were already drawn.


	7. Born

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, I know, it's been a while. A really long while. I cam back to this story recently and have been really enjoying writing it again, so I hope that some of you might still enjoy reading it. At any rate, many thanks to Ouatic-7, Dragenphly, Angelika, SilverSurfa, Marius and Kirrashi for their reviews of chapter 6.

----

**Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Chapter 7: Born**

By the time Harry got down to breakfast the next morning, most of the students had already finished eating. He plonked himself down on the bench next to Hermione, who was reading _The Daily Prophet_ ('Cambridge Research-Wizard Killed by Exploding Experiment!'). Ron gestured at him with a spoon.

"Didn u go a see Ma'am Pomfey?" he asked through a mouthful of porridge.

"Not yet," Harry said. "I'll go after breakfast."

Hermione gave him a reproving look. "If you'd wanted to do that, you should have come to breakfast earlier. You won't have time to go before your first class."

Harry shrugged. "I'll do it at break, then. It's no big deal."

Ron eyebrows shot up. "Have you looked at your face, mate? It's like Hallowe'en! All I can say is-"

But whatever all he could say was, Harry never found out. Ron stopped abruptly, and Harry looked up to find Malfoy standing at his shoulder. His face was clean and free from marks; he had obviously made the time to go to Madame Pomfrey before breakfast.

"We need to talk about the Magical Transportation assignment," he said, shortly.

Harry glanced at Ron, whose mouth had dropped open. He looked back at Malfoy. The other boy was staring at him impatiently. "Um, OK?" Harry hazarded.

"Right. I'll meet you in the library at breaktime. On second thoughts," Malfoy's eyes travelled over Harry's face, "you might want to get yourself fixed up first. You look like something the cat dragged in."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Malfoy was already turning away. "So I'll see you there at lunchtime. Oh and Potter?" The boy cast a glance over his shoulder, his pointed features assuming an air of indifference. "Don't forget to bring your book. Mine had an accident." And with that, he marched out of the Great Hall.

The three friends stared after him. "I think I liked him better when he was sulking," Ron remarked.

Hermione straightened up. "Well, _I _think it's a big improvement, even if he did burn that book. Well done Harry, I think what you did was very generous."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, not sure exactly what it was that he had done, and not entirely sure he thought the new Malfoy was in improvement, either. _Still, at least I won't have to do the homework all by myself_.

----

The next few weeks were rather surreal, even by the standards of Harry's life. Malfoy was not quite as invisible as he had been before -- sometimes he would sit in a corner of the Gryffindor common room by himself, or be seen stalking through the corridors on his own -- but they still saw him very little. None of the Gryffindors seemed very keen to bridge the gap between them, Harry least of all: to Ron's relief, and despite Hermione's urging, he didn't invite Malfoy to sit with them at mealtimes or in the evening. Every week, however, they would meet in the library, and later, when theory moved into practice, out in the grounds or in the common room, to do their Magical Transportation homework. At these times, and at others when Harry or Hermione had cause to speak to him, Malfoy wavered between condescending and coolly polite; Ron he ignored completely, which seemed to suit both of them best.

Harry had told Malfoy about his theory that the Slytherins had an Invisibility Cloak. They had yet to find any evidence of it, however, or come up with any ideas about how they had pulled it off without waking either Harry or Malfoy.

Harry didn't really have time to worry about Malfoy or the Slytherins, though. He began to feel like he was drowning under a pile of work and responsibilities. He had never really caught up with the work he had missed at the beginning of term, both due to his abduction and his dark depression, and he seemed to be constantly a lesson behind everyone else. There was a Quidditch match approaching against Slytherin; they had replaced Malfoy (who was refusing to have anything to do with his old housemates) with a skinny second year girl named Jemima Radcliffe, and although Harry was pretty sure he could beat her, Katie Bell, the new captain of the Gryffindor team, was pushing them hard, despite the deterioration of the weather as autumn drew on. It seemed like whenever Harry wasn't working, he was practicing.

And yet the constant activity was never quite enough to allow Harry to forget the doubts and worries that gnawed at the back of his mind. There was still no news on Voldemort, no killings and no disappearances, though Harry checked Hermione's copy of _the Daily Prophet_ every day, almost to the point of obsession. He felt sure there were clues in the paper somewhere, that the events it reported must somehow hold the key to whatever Voldemort was up to, but he could find nothing to support his theory. And behind that uneasy feeling was something worse, something he rarely looked into because it threatened to draw him back into a well of misery: Sirius was still dead. Despite Harry's attempts to pretend to himself and everyone around him that he was healing, he knew in his heart that he was not.

Magical Transportation was turning out to be quite an interesting class, now that they had moved from the theory into the actual creation of Portkeys. Harry knew that he would not be permitted to create Portkeys whenever he wanted, but somehow he gained comfort from the idea that by the end of the year he would be proficient in both them and Apparation, thus giving him a degree of independence he had never experienced before. The preparations for the creation of a Portkey were, however, very complex, and the calculations involved often left Harry swearing vociferously at his open textbook. The first Portkey they were expected to create was supposed to take them to the boys' dormitory, and the book contained detailed instructions for the preparation of the object (a chipped teacup), which ought to have made it a simple matter: all they had to do was add in the correct magical coordinates for the dormitory (the book also contained instructions for how to calculate them), and perform the spell. But as Harry and Malfoy sat in the common room one Friday evening in November, alternately pointing their wands at the cup and saying '_Portus_!', they began to suspect that it was, in fact, an impossible task.

"Oh, come here." Hermione reached for the teacup. She and Ron had, of course, already succeeded in enchanting their object (one of Hermione's knitted hats), and had come running down from the boys' dormitory almost a week before, pursued by the shouts of an outraged (and almost entirely naked) Dean Thomas. Malfoy grabbed the cup and put it out of her reach.

"We'll do it ourselves," he said shortly.

Hermione sighed loudly. "Fine, suit yourself. But I wish you wouldn't do it _here_. I'm trying to write this essay" (she gestured at an extremely long roll of parchment that curled under the table and out of sight) "and it's very distracting."

"Well, it's freezing outside," Harry pointed out. He glanced at Malfoy, who was examining the scroll on which they had written their calculations once more. "Maybe you could just give us some pointers?" he asked, lowering his voice. Malfoy might be determined to go it alone, but Harry was more than happy to accept Hermione's help.

"Well," Hermione said, "it's probably a mistake in the calculations, you know. They're very difficult."

Malfoy looked up and scowled. "Fine," he said, flinging the parchment down on the table, "you're so bloody clever, _you_ do it." And he leaned back in his chair with his arms folded.

Hermione seemed entirely unflustered. She picked up the parchment and began to examine it, frowning as she tried to decipher their handwriting. "Hmm," she muttered, chewing on the corner of her lip. Harry watched her expectantly. "That's supposed to be a five," she was mumbling, "and that should be a wynn..." Harry glanced over at Ron, who rolled his eyes. Malfoy was staring daggers in Hermione's direction.

Suddenly, she looked up. "Ah! I see what you've done!" She rotated the teacup twice anti-clockwise, and then tapped it with her wand. "_Portus_!"

The teacup glowed blue and wobbled slightly on its saucer. Then it returned to its normal appearance.

Harry and Malfoy exchanged glances, and then both reached for the cup at the same time. As his fingers brushed against the cool china, Harry felt the by-now familiar sensation of being pulled backwards by a hook through his navel. _It worked_, he thought in surprise, and then he felt himself falling through empty space.

----

Ron looked at Hermione, and then back at the empty chairs where Harry and Malfoy had been sitting. "Typical," he said. "Five feet of calculations and you found the problem in two minutes."

Hermione tried to hide her pleasure. "Well, I suppose they'll be coming down any minute," she said, looking expectantly at the dormitory stairs. They waited. But a minute passed, and still there was no sign of Harry and Malfoy. Hermione glanced at Ron, worried now. "Do you think we should go up and check?"

"I'll go," said Ron. "I think you've spent quite enough time in the boys' dormitory lately."

Hermione waited, trying not to worry as Ron went up the stairs. After all, they had followed the instructions from the book, so they couldn't have gone too wrong, could they? But when Ron came back down, the look on his face told Hermione all she needed to know.

"They're not there," he said.

----

Gerontius Applethwaite was bored. He had been bored for several weeks now, and there was no sign of his boredom coming to an end any time soon. To make matters worse, right now he was bored _and_ hungry, but he couldn't go to the village to get some food, as his partner had already left, and therefore he would be deserting his post. For perhaps the twentieth time (no, given the amount of time he had been stuck doing this job it would have to be more than that, since that implied that it had only happened a few times a night), he found himself questioning his orders, though another part of his brain tried desperately to suppress the rebellion. He didn't know if his master could read his thoughts, but he would rather not find out.

_Still_, the dangerous thought insisted, _what's the likelihood that this is ever going to work? Someone will have spotted the discrepancy by now. Even if it does work, the magic is experimental. You know what it did to Penfawr. _

Gerontius frowned, though he was unaware that he was doing it. _It's the best plan we have_, he pointed out.

_We had Malfoy's plan. That was a good one._

Gerontius might have snorted out loud; at any rate, there was a noise in his mind very much like derision. _Malfoy was outwitted by a gaggle of children. They know now. There's no way Malfoy's plan can work any more_.

_Maybe not, but there's no guarantee that they'll ever_--

The train of thought that he had proved incapable of derailing by his own efforts crashed and burned as Gerontius was struck from above by something heavy that was falling fast.

----

"Ow."

Harry opened his eyes. At least, he tried to open them, only to realise that they were already open. Frowning, he waved his hand in front of his face, but could see nothing.

"Ow," said the voice, insistently.

_I wonder if I've gone blind_, thought Harry. _Maybe I've gone mad as well_.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, OW!"

This time Harry recognised the angry, arrogant tones of the voice. He felt the uneven ground shifting beneath him, and suddenly it rose up, so that he fell another few inches.

"Look, Potter," said Malfoy (for it was unmistakeably him, though Harry could still see nothing), "you're always going on about being polite and all that stupid rubbish, and you don't have the common decency not to bloody well land on top of me and then just lie there like the braindead idiot that you are," he drew a breath, and there was an audible groan.

Harry waited for a minute, but it seemed that there was nothing more forthcoming. He wondered if Malfoy had fainted.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Did you just groan?"

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. "I thought that was you."

There was a tense silence. Harry realised he was beginning to get used to the darkness. He blinked a couple of times. From the temperature and the feel of moving air against his cheeks, he guessed they were somewhere outside. In front of him, something darker than the surrounding darkness shifted.

"There's -- something -- on the ground," Malfoy said, sounding decidedly disconcerted.

Harry struggled to his feet. He had a very bad feeling. There was another groan, from somewhere around knee-level, then an unfamiliar voice said "_Lumos_."

Harry, momentarily blinded by the flare of light, didn't wait around to see who had cast the spell. He seized an arm that he hoped was Malfoy's, and ran.

----

"Well?"

Hermione sighed. "There's nothing wrong," she said, staring down at the parchment in front of her. "There aren't any more mistakes."

Ron stared at her. "There's got to be! Otherwise Harry would have gone to the dormitory!"

Hermione closed her eyes, and opened them again, then shook her head desperately. "It's just not here. The co-ordinates match the ones in the book, all the calculations are correct..."

"Well, maybe the book's wrong, then," Ron said, grabbing the heavy leather-bound volume and glaring at it.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said. "If the book was wrong everyone else who was using it would have been sent to wherever Harry went."

"Not if this one's different to the others." Ron was fishing his own copy, battered and at least ten years old, out of his satchel. He flipped through the pages, then let out a shout of triumph. "Hah!"

"Let me see that," Hermione said, snatching the book out of Ron's hands. She stared at the numbers on the page. "But how...?"

"I don't _care_ how," Ron said, so loudly he startled a group of third years who were sitting nearby. "Where have they gone _to_?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know how to work it out from the co-ordinates alone," she said, feeling a terrible sensation of failure in her stomach.

Ron drew himself up. "Well then," he said, "we'll just have to go there too."

----

"Stop. Potter, stop!"

Harry came to sudden halt in the darkness as the arm he was clutching suddenly began to drag a great deal more. "What are you _doing_?" he hissed.

"I'm falling over," Malfoy's voice came out of the air below him. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me get on with it in peace." The arm jerked out of his grip, and he heard the sound of something hitting the ground. "Ow," added Malfoy.

"We've got to keep moving," Harry insisted.

"That is the most ridiculous thing... Look, Potter, I take it you have no idea where we are, or who that was. We can't see a thing, we don't have our wands, and for all you know we could be running in circles or about to fall into a big pit. Is that really a sensible course of action?"

"Better than waiting for whoever that was to catch up," Harry said.

There was an explosive sigh. "You don't know _who_ that was! It could have been anyone! How do you know you just didn't calculate the co-ordinates wrong and then we landed on some poor idiotic bumpkin?"

Harry looked up, but there were no stars, and no light reflected from the sky. "Things like that just don't happen to me," he said, feeling rather grumpy.

"Oh yes, I forgot." There was a rustling noise as Malfoy shifted his position. "Everyone's always trying to kill you, aren't they, seeing as how you're the centre of the universe and all that."

Harry felt stung. "I'm not the centre of the universe," he protested. "And last time they tried to kill _you_."

"As I recall, it was you that tried to kill me," Malfoy said, and the sheer bitterness of his tone struck Harry with almost physical force. It was beyond anything he had heard from Malfoy in the last month or so, since their confrontation by the lake. He felt his knees tremble, and he sat down sharply.

"I didn't... I wouldn't..." he whispered.

"Give it up, Potter. I was there, remember? I'm not your friend, and I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear, unless you want to hear that you're a deluded arsehole."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling an odd sense of betrayal. "Never mind this now," he muttered. "We've got to get out of here."

"Out of _where_?" Malfoy's voice rose in pitch, setting Harry's teeth on edge.

"Look, Malfoy, can't you just bloody well do what I say for once and--" he broke off and listened. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

There was the noise of something crashing through undergrowth and a short, barking shout of surprise, and Harry just had time to think _that, you idiot_, before something hit him hard in the back, and all his muscles suddenly gave up. He toppled forward onto the frozen ground, and lay still.

A moment later, someone grabbed him around the waist and hauled him up, setting him in a sitting position on the grass. Harry saw by the light of his assailant's wand that Malfoy had also been stunned, and was now leaning up against the trunk of a tree. A strange young wizard with a bulbous nose and watery eyes crouched down on his haunches and stared into Harry's face. Harry wanted to look away, even to close his eyes to shut out that unpleasant stare, but he could not.

"So," the wizard said, rubbing his chin. "You're the famous Harry Potter, are you? Thought you'd be..." he looked Harry up and down, "... taller."

Harry's brain scowled, but his face remained immobile. He was able to move his eyes enough to note that they were somewhere in a sparsely wooded area; the trees were huge, hardwood, though there was no way to tell the species as the first branches began well above the sphere of light thrown by the wizard's wand. The frosty grass glittered in the silvery glow, each blade seeming like it had been dipped in crushed glass. Harry, wearing only his indoor robes, began to feel rather cold.

The wizard in front of him looked round sharply: from somewhere nearby came the sound of footsteps crunching through the grass. A second light appeared, and a growling voice came from behind it.

"What're you doing, Applethwaite? Why aren't you at your post?"

The young wizard straightened up. He was very thin, and his robes hung from his narrow shoulders like sacking. "I've got him, Marriott," he said, rocking back on his heels with a triumphant grin on his face as he stared down at Harry. "I've got Potter."

A thick-set wizard emerged into the sphere of Applethwaite's light. He stared at Harry without noticeable emotion, and much as Applethwaite's gaze had made Harry uncomfortable, this man's grey eyes made a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

"You sure it's him?" the growling voice asked, and the second wizard -- Marriott -- leaned forward and pushed back Harry's hair to reveal his scar. The skin of Harry's scalp flinched away involuntarily. Marriott straightened. "And who's that?" he jerked his head in the direction of Malfoy, whose immobile face was frozen in an expression of terror.

Applethwaite shrugged. "No idea. Must have both grabbed the Portkey at the same time."

Marriott's expression did not change. "We must let him know."

Applethwaite nodded eagerly. "He'll be pleased."

Marriott shot him a quick glance, and Applethwaite flinched slightly. "It's no more than he was expecting," the heavier wizard said. Then he transferred his gaze to Harry and smiled, and Harry had the terrible sensation of wanting to crawl out of his own skin. "Perhaps he had to wait a little longer than he would have preferred, but the wait is over now."

----

"Right," Hermione said, "I think that's it." She looked up from Harry's sheet of calculations and stole a glance at Ron, but he was staring at the saucer on the table, his face a picture of determination. The saucer had previously held the chipped tea cup that had transported Harry and Malfoy to some unknown destination, and it had just returned to its normal colour after Hermione had performed the spell that changed it into a Portkey. A muscle clenched in Ron's jaw, and he reached out.

"Wait!" said Hermione, and Ron's hand stopped suddenly. "Someone must have changed the book for a reason. What if we're walking into a trap?"

Ron shrugged. "Maybe it's just a different edition."

"But what if it's _not_?" Hermione insisted.

Ron's expression did not change. "Then we've just got to risk it. Ginny will find Dumbledore or McGonagall and tell them what we've done, but there's no time to wait for her to get back. Harry's in trouble _now_, and I'm going after him. You can come with me, or not, but don't try and stop me."

Hermione knew that there would be no talking Ron out of his decision, rash as it may be. _I hope Ginny finds Professor Dumbledore soon_, she thought, and reached for the Portkey.

----

Harry's limbs were beginning to go numb from being stuck in such an awkward position. He swivelled his eyes wildly, trying to see what the two strange wizards were doing, but they were out of his line of sight.

Harry wondered whether he looked as terrified as Malfoy. The other boy's frozen expression was so incongruously comical that Harry suddenly felt the urge to laugh. His muscles wouldn't allow it, of course -- they were still stuck in an attitude of fear -- but somewhere else, somewhere inside his mind, Harry gave up, lay down on the floor and giggled hysterically. Something of what was going on inside must have showed in Harry's face, because suddenly Malfoy rolled his eyes, causing Harry's mental mirth to almost double.

And then something happened that ought to have cut Harry's laughter off at the knees and twisted his stomach into knots of fear. Surprisingly, however, it had a rather different effect – a sort of mental shrug, and a feeling almost of boredom. Somewhere behind him, out of his line of sight, he heard a sibilant voice that was all too familiar. _So_, he thought, _here we go again_.

----

"Where _are_ we?"

"Outside."

"Genius. I would have never worked that out."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's sarcasm, though the gesture was somewhat wasted since there was no way he could have seen it in the pitch black. "More to the point," she said, "where are Harry and Draco?" She brushed down her robes where they had been crushed by Ron landing on top of her. Beside her, she heard Ron move, and heard an intake of breath. "Don't!" she said quickly.

"What? Don't what?"

"Don't make a light. At the moment, whoever might be out there has no idea that we're here. That gives us the advantage."

"Funny sort of advantage, being blind as a bat," Ron muttered, but he lowered his arm again.

Hermione thought for a moment. "We should split up," she announced finally. "They could be anywhere out here, and we need to find them before someone else does. You go this way, I'll go that way."

"What way?" Ron asked. "I can't see a thing."

Hermione sighed, and then gave him a push in the right direction. There was a thud and a muffled grunt. "Try not to trip over anything," she added, rather redundantly. Then she turned, and began to make her way as best she could, every nerve tense as she listened hard for anything out of the ordinary.

----

"Turn him to face me," said the voice, and a moment later Harry found himself being gripped roughly under the arms and twisted painfully around. He knew what he would see, of course: the lipless mouth, the sunken red eyes, the pale skin. He knew he ought to have been scared, but instead he felt by turns defiant and resigned. All his visions of this moment had had him struggling, fighting, perhaps dying but at least trying to save himself. And yet, here he was, unable to move even his little finger, and the only gesture of rebellion that he could achieve was to roll his eyes.

"We meet again," said Voldemort, and smiled. The smile was horrible, but Harry found himself thinking _enough with the theatrics. Let's just get on with it._

Marriott must have thought the same, because he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and said, "My Lord, soon they will notice the boy's absence."

"I am well aware of that," Voldemort snarled, and Marriott subsided, looking chastened. "But yes, we have wasted too much time, so much time, the last fifteen years. We will waste no more. Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, Lord," Marriott said. "You have but to say the word."

"Very well," said Voldemort, and smiled again. Then he raised his wand.

----

Hermione felt like she had been stumbling around for hours, though it could really only have been a few minutes. Her eyes strained for light, but the darkness was almost total, and her ears seized greedily on the oddly loud sound of her own feet crunching through the grass to mitigate the sensory deprivation. Until, that was, she thought she heard something else, lower and smoother than the glassy sound of feet on frosty grass, and stopped dead.

There it was again. She turned sharply, trying to orient herself relative to the sound. And then, what she had thought was a faint glow brought about by the desperation of her own eyes shifted slightly and became momentarily brighter. Hermione felt her heartbeat speed up, and she began to walk as fast as she could in the direction of the glow, not trusting herself to run without falling, hoping that whoever was there would be too absorbed in what they were doing to hear the sound of her footsteps, which, as the light grew, seemed to fade to normal volume once more. The low rumbling sound became louder, and was interspersed with a higher-pitched, hissing noise, like a kettle boiling or the wind in the eaves. It wasn't until she was hiding behind a tree and could almost make out the words that she realised what the sound must be, and then her stomach tried to climb up through her throat.

She peered round the trunk of the tree cautiously. She could see two unfamiliar men, and Harry sitting on the grass in an oddly twisted posture, and a tall, gaunt figure swathed in dark robes towering over him and raising his wand, ready to strike.

Time slowed down. Hermione didn't stop to absorb just who she was looking at. An odd sense of calm spread through her every thrumming nerve, and she thought like she had never thought before.

_A blocking spell, or a shield. _

No, that would only buy Harry a moment's respite before it was broken.

_Then a hex._

A hex? Hermione almost laughed. She didn't suffer from false modesty, but she had no illusions about who would come out on top in that particular encounter. Whether it would even prevent the spell was uncertain, but it would certainly reveal her position and render her unable to provide any more help. No, what she needed was something that would send _him_ reeling, for long enough for Harry to make a break for it. And, she suddenly realised, noting Harry's bizarre stillness, long enough for her to release him from a stunning spell.

What spell was there? Hermione noticed that her thoughts were racing faster and faster, while the scene in front of her remained frozen in time. And then she had it, and she smiled.

----

Harry did the only thing he could: he stared straight into Voldemort's red eyes, trying with a simple stare to express all the revulsion and lack of fear that he felt. Then Voldemort said a single word, and light streamed out of the tip of his wand, purple, blue, red, kaleidoscopic light, aimed straight at Harry's head.

But Harry didn't hear what word it was that Voldemort said, because at the moment he said it, two other shouts rang out, and two more beams of light converged with the first right in front of Harry's face. The first beam glowed a violent orange and shot off at an angle, missing Harry's temple by a hair's breadth. Harry hadn't even had time to absorb these events before he heard another shout and felt his congealed limbs dissolve into a puddle of nerveless flesh, and then heard Hermione's voice yelling Run, Harry, run!

And he ran. Leaping up, he forced his rubbery legs to move, not looking back, not looking at anything except the inviting darkness beyond the reach of the silver glow, and, at the last minute, noticing Malfoy crumpled in a heap at the foot of a tree and grabbing his arm, hauling him to his feet with no time for complaints. As he ran, he could feel his mind splitting in two: one half was nothing but pounding feet and gasping breath, manoeuvring him round trees and maintaining his iron grip on Malfoy's arm. The other half, or maybe it was more like a quarter, pointed out that there was no way he was going to outrun Voldemort, that there was nothing he could do, and that he might as well give up. Luckily, the sound of his heart booming in his ears soon drowned it out.

And then the next thing he knew, he was collapsed on the ground in total darkness once more, heaving and panting. And he was alive. At least, he was pretty sure he was. He didn't think he'd be out of breath if he was dead.

"Harry, are you here?" came a soft voice. It was Hermione. Harry made a kind of strangled grunt, which was the best he could manage. A moment later, a very faint light spread over his face, and he realised his eyes were open. He blinked a couple of times.

"What..." he swallowed hard, trying to breathe evenly. "What happened?" He struggled into a sitting position just in time to see Hermione shake her head.

"I'm not sure," she said. "Are you all right?"

Harry pondered the question. He was, as he had already noted, alive. Not only that, his breathing was gradually coming back to normal, although it felt like his heart was never going to slow down. His legs and arms had pins and needles, but the legs at least seemed to have managed to carry him a fair way, so they must be OK.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I think I am. How about you, Malfoy?"

Just then there was a crashing sound a short distance away. Hermione tensed up, and Harry instinctively reached for his wand only to remember that it was still in the common room.

"_Nox_," whispered Hermione, and they were plunged into darkness. They heard the sound of someone coming closer quickly, and then whoever it was stumbled over something and fell to the ground, letting out a swear-word that would have made a sailor blush.

Harry sighed with relief. "Ron," he said. "Am I glad to – hear you."

"Are they following you?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Nah," came Ron's voice in the darkness. "I dunno what happened, but they all just pissed off somewhere. Would you mind turning the lights on? I think my wand's had it."

"_Lumos_," said Hermione, and Harry was suddenly greeted with the image of his best friend grinning widely.

"We showed them, right?"

"I spose so," Harry said, feeling confused. "But what did you _do_?"

"Well," Ron started, but Hermione broke in.

"Draco, are you all right?"

Harry turned quickly. Malfoy was lying on his back on the ground, staring upwards. He didn't move or respond to Hermione's question in any way. Harry struggled to his feet, and took a couple of wobbly steps. "Malfoy? You OK?"

Malfoy still didn't answer, but lay perfectly still. Harry waved a hand in front of his eyes, but there was no response. "Malfoy!" he grabbed hold of the other boy's shoulder and shook it.

Suddenly, Malfoy turned to stare straight at Harry. "Watch it, Potter," he said sharply. "I just had these robes cleaned."

Ron snorted. "Have you seen yourself, mate?" he asked. "I think maybe you need to do them again anyway."

Malfoy sat up and looked down at his robes. Like Harry's they were crumpled, torn, and covered in stains. "Adversity is no reason to drop one's standards," he said shortly, and clambered to his feet. "This way." And he stalked off into the darkness.

Harry exchanged a confused and exasperated look with Hermione, and then the three of them hurried after him. "Malfoy," Harry said, grabbing hold of the sleeve of his robes, "where are you going?"

Malfoy stopped dead. "I am _going_ back to the school," he said, deftly removing Harry's fingers from his sleeve. "The entrance to the grounds is just over there. I recognise these trees."

He was about to turn and march off, but Harry grabbed him again. "Are you sure you feel all right?" he asked.

Malfoy looked straight at him again, and barked out a short laugh. Harry had a sudden, unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"All right? I feel... exalted," Malfoy said, and his eyes glittered in the light from Hermione's wand as he turned.

Harry and Ron fell in behind the other two as they walked in the direction of what Harry, too, was beginning to recognise as the gates of Hogwarts. "Why does that not make me feel better?" muttered Ron.


End file.
